(October 30,1961 / Farrell, Pennsylvania)


They all have mouths that tire,
bright souls that have no seams.
And longing (for sin's mire)
passes through their dreams.

Almost alike they stride,
silent beneath the Tree,
like intervals inside
great God's grand symphony.

But when one of them rages,
spread wings set tempests spinning,
as if God, sculpting ages,
huge-handed, leafed through pages,
the dark book of beginning.

after Rainer Maria Rilke

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Comments (1)

The great God's grand symphony we witness. Angels are definitely bright souls with broader visions. A brilliant poem is wisely penned...10