arisbe: (Default)
arisbe ([personal profile] arisbe) wrote2002-11-25 01:46 pm

Sonnet

Bab El, the Gate of God, fallen indeed,
The common tongue remembered, speaking of
Ancient forgotten mysteries, our creed.
Words come to their senses, even love.

I turn away from the cremation ground
That burns from summer's end to winter's start,
And walk, perplexed and soulsick all around
The cityscapes in which I lose my heart.

We build again, more humanly this time,
And mindful of the holy ground we tread.
I raise my little towers out of rhyme
Fearful lest something might be left unsaid.

For death, that took these quick, still waits for me
And I must earn my freedom to be free.



© 2002 FP Purcell

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