poetry & things

In other countries

Somewhere in a dream

in other countries, never mapped, a man was speaking

though I did not understand, there was never any plan

and I listened to the wind and rain upon the trees.

With no church bells to ring, and birds were the chorus

There in the forest, a silent steeple stood standing on it’s own

now a wild bird’s home, wrapped in thorny vines

a crown that stained, red berries bled upon my hands.

Mary was there too, she was looking through

a broken window pane, whispering my name

and too, the forest sang, bathing me in love

and with the birds I flew, silently into

a deeper dream, until I woke at dawn

to fragrant flowers on the lawn

remembering such heaven.

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