wings on corpes
- Wings on corpses
by George "Papa" G.
One last breath, a gasp of moans and groans.
Death's dance done. Bones picked clean, in a scene of dogmatic conflict.
The soul wishes to fly, wings on the corpse cries for release.
Departure desired, and higher choirs to be seen; heard.
Mortal destiny achieved, cradle to grave.
The illusion's roll has taken its toll, and the tired spirit inquires
to the peace that was promised. Feasts on table with warriors long gone,
melodies of tones that rhyme in epic proses await the Pagan faithful.
Rewarded by kisses from Goddesses and a rose of fire.
The bright light calls, in a glance, a trance like slave mired in sin,
waits for the scales to begin. Karma sings of the life lived.
None but the "One" hears or cares, the brave knave stands,
as tears flow. Saved by deeds done.
Summerland waits with fields of green, relieved it is as was believed.
So ends tonight's dream. Who dreams of who.?
Why die, asks the poets whose pen is almost dry, in a midnight scream?
An egg? The fabled Id? Questions inspire moonlit walks, and prayers said.
Shaking hands type this simple goodnight and goodbye,
for answer I will try to find inside.
Papa G © Sunday, January 25, 2004
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