Words beyond the grave

 

I saw this on a German soldiers gravestone:

 

If people only knew how hard it is to be wounded, 

to die,

they would all be meek and gentle,

would not split into parties,

would not incite mobs to attack one another,

and would not kill.

 

But when they are in good health, they know nothing of this.

 

When they are wounded, no one believes them.

 

When they are dead, they can no longer speak.

 

Laurie, The Warrior of Light

Celestial Poem

 

Three pyramids of lilac flower

retire from space and empty time

to be idea and so dower

a scented presence upon rhyme.

 

Like vowels that enrich our dark

with glints of semi precious dye

Their pointed music prints its mark

On other senses than the eye.

 

Staggered parabola of bush

and bent attention ply out there

to pluck from memory and crush

bruised stems into a vase of air.

 

An arc that touches ports of call

the mind can scarcely comprehend

sails the line furling to no fall

a charted journey without end.

 

Infinite bright particulars

cover the page as on that night

when word stilled chaos and the stars

Compassed the Universe with light.

 

Laurie, The Warrior of Light.