Satin robes, black and hooded fly,
Past a golden globe of truth,
Rain their sadness, laid to die,
Atop their withered youth,
Bare bones now, bleached uncaring,
Still now, lay before us all,
A script arranged, their truth are sharing,
Embedded wisdom forth they call,
The babble quietens when is read,
The words of wisdom last he shared,
Hear them still when I am dead,
His last wish he to heaven dared,
A million suns have past and gone,
All is withered far and wide,
That, which was of mind and brawn,
Too, the bones once bleached white,
Ghost and shadows black the clouds,
Still fly past the times eternal,
Eternal truth its wisdom shouts,
Ego, fires hell infernal.©
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Regis
and surreal - and for me it calls to mind the
metaphysical poets, i'm thinking Herbert in particular
and with tones of John Donne, too;
fine work, Jasmin, My Friend
john