Caught

Caught,

No way out,

The shout

Of children laughing beyond the hill,

The sun

Wrapped up in billowing clouds,

Within the green, wavering willows

There are bowls

Of singing songs

Woven of silver shrouds

Of moonlight,

A thought

Flown

By,

The gongs

Of the ancient temple at the top of the flight

Of stone steps,

No one knows why.

After the fall,

No recall.

No intention.

Only the mystic lands,

Where glide

The magic birds,

Unknown,

Beyond all paths of being

Where stands

Only the Presence of Eternity,

Beyond the misted rings of timeless time, beckoning

Where only the sacred one walks along,

Only the One

Beyond all paths of being

And the herd

Of little bearded goats

That traipses after,

Who play

In the grass on the sands,

By the rolling sea,

They are the jokes of Saturn, Shani,

Who bray

With their offkey

Bleating call

Nearby,

Where the seasongs

Float on the seaweed

Of the ever-turning tide.

© Copyright, Sharon St Joan, 2022