In All Torn Arrays The Wisdom Fell Poem by Miroslava Odalovic

In all torn arrays the wisdom fell
Ragged and dusty like the roads it took
It sounded apeace like a church and its bell
And the highest steeple that can take a look
Into the sky with never the same clouds
The most secret fourth element of blue
To put the thought into golden moulds
Of a faith and a dream of both me and you

In all torn arrays the wisdom fell
The stones stood still by the burden doors
Perceptions closed divorced heaven from hell
And all tribes rose in ancient folk lores
Into the sky with never the same limits
Reaching beyond a fragile countenance
With numberless marbles in colourful digits
Counting the time of final transcendence

In all torn arrays the wisdom fell
Its robes on fire plague purified paid
For none of its edges could ever tell
An endless faith love and hope there laid
To dawn upon the doom of a clay made hand
Shaping the lines destiny led paths
Too blind to travel too hard to understand
The burdens of life and its aftermath

©Miroslava Odalovic