A paradoxical communion

Where doctrines of ages collude in a spiritual union,
I stand in silent prayer on the mount of a paradoxical communion.

Where battles razed structures, doused spirits; only to rise once again,
I stand with my palm on the wall of angst that reverberates of disdain.

Where mandates they may sign, lines they may draw and votes they may beseech,
I stand under a dome of peace, seeking only what has been promised to each.

Once again...

Once again I seethe in agony as they devise plans to inflict pain,
I dreamed of paradise, I saw a world devoid of disdain.
But I was wrong.

Once again my bosom cannot comfort, while they shed a joyous tear,
I held anguish in my arms, I tried to preserve the breath of a soul, and I tried to vanquish fear.
But I failed.

Once again a million souls weep, while a few mock in distaste,
Am I old and weak, from the wounds of ignominy, from the pelts of hate?
But I should rise.

Once again I fill my heart with stone, while fear lurks in my warm embrace,
I will rise, I will provide, I will fill laughter, I will spread joy, with progress I shall once again set pace.
But I fear, will I fail once again?

He was buried without a nation

Abstract thoughts would waft as he gazed in to the void world beyond,
History would dance on the palette of joy as this eccentric soul daubed imageries so fond.

A romantic soul whose age would defy, but heart needed no reason to flutter.
But alas, a mother abdicated her prodigal son while humanity could only stutter.

Poetry set ablaze from canvas of love, parochial thoughts construed humiliation,
Posterity shall always be fida, not knowing that he was buried without a nation.

She is death

A sacred bosom that holds images of that first coy kiss,
A darkened soul of a devil that wraps within a silken bliss.

A heart that reverberates with anguish and provides for helpless multitudes,
A poison ivy insidiously tormenting with her vicissitudes.

A beautiful mind that beckons the bereaved to peace,
A harried thought that beguiles the innocent to a dreadful abyss. 

She is life, she enraptures, she loves and she creates, 
She is death, she torments, she hates and she destroys.  

Angels of peace

Angels of peace perched on twigs by a reflective puddle,
All knowing eyes plumb the depths of worldly muddle.

Joyous cryptic wings gossamer challenge the mundane,
Refulgent colours waft by and heal the disdain.

Synchronous flights darn your soul mottled by distress,
Meditative glance beseeches your thoughts to flee the duress.