Saint Eule (10/30/1955 / Shamokin, Pa)
From dust we came not that kind upon the shelve
But a dust so creative it made life itself.
Time to time we need a sprinkle
A pinch to make our eyes twinkle.
When all seem lost and in despair
A little angel dust is blown there.
Creative thoughts and musical joy,
They dance and make our dreams come true.
When we think that we are all alone,
The dust is falling upon us in crimson and blue.
Then as we grow weary and old,
We return to dust and streets of gold.
Poet Other Poems
- A Diamond In The Ground
- A Glacier Of Clear Thought
- A Holy Man Steps
- A Somber View of You
- A Thousand Orchids
- A Woman in Labor
- Ad Somniator
- All the Placid Places
- Angel and the bee
- Angelic Decryption
- Another Journey
- Aparrently Not A Parent
- Aryanacos Pod
- Autumn with Grandpa
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.