I wake unto thee, my prism of color,
my rainbow of ecstasy, shimmers through
shattered glass. He thrusts forth and
commences to cut down my weeping willow,
whittle it into a piccolo and play me like a
song to be sung with a thousand refrains

So play me, I beg you sir, with the trumpets sounding
each time you cross the gates over my trampled soul
and carry me in your stronghold. He, whom I’ve
never laid eyes upon but can see through the mist
a mirage of springtime everlasting.

I long for the dawn of day or the depth of
glorious night, to sit across thy table sharing
a glance, lie next to thee on sheets of heaven
folding us into the palm of it’s caress.

How angelic to be blinded by such a light.

L. K. Thayer

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