not every message comes coated in gold
lifted into Heaven in a rose apotheosis
a stillness in the wind, a cooling shade
sometimes relays to me
a feeling as though in a great cathedral
my soul, composed, serene
had stumbled on the living stream.
apart from music, how to measure time
I was never any good at learning
let there always be music then
so that the soul continues to breathe
despite the innundating noise
that floods the earth.
let the inner stars wax brilliantly
the string quartets be neverending
the memory of Beauty
the last to bid goodbye.
mary angela douglas 30 june 2022
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