Boiling steam of dew
in a mist to the sky
forms clouds of vapor through
which sun beams crawl, golden stairs reaching high
Vines a rope ladder weaves
rungs of shadow fade
through bowed crying leaves
evaporating pools of shade
All beckon a climb up steps of burl
hanging moss of angel shrouds
with wooden arms that curl
through leafy clouds
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: June 28th, 2024 04:15
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
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Comments2
Well this is simply glorious with a stunning vision of grace and serenity, I'd climb those stairs happily when the time is right. Ah I am such a lover of Angels, beautiful poetic art dearest sorrenbarret 🌹
Thank you so much for your most gracious remarks as always they are most appreciated. Angels to me are those few humans that reach out to others and animals in their honesty. I use the term quite figuratively in that it conveys an image most people in this culture tend to understand. And actually in this poem it was originally conceived as a term thinking of Spanish moss that hangs from trees and picturing it as angel shrouds.
You leave me so much to ponder over, simply exquisite as always dear poet. Love the moss love the human angel and I love the thought of a devine figure who reaches out in times of desperation. Thank you, you are always most inspiring. 🌹
Good write SB.
Thanks Orchi I appreciate your read
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