Flood
What would the rising waters
beautiful they are,
silver mists and sparkles,
enfold within their silence?
What buildings,
proud cathedrals and
the arrogance
of rising towers
monster machinations,
gaudy vaudeville,
what fields of prisons,
cages and enclosures
would recede so sweetly
to a nevermore,
deep down,
once it was
but now ...
... there is only
the starblessed expanse
shifting, drifting here
beneath the endless skies
and voices from the winds,
the heavens sing of life,
and destiny.
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