Verses Poem by Michael Roysdon

I: Impurities and Purities

In rivers and gorges nature finds its bounty,
These soft and fragile verses sang in tides,
Watery sways, avenues, and earthy canvases,
Men in themselves impure, to accept this,
Is the accept impure as purity,
For purity if known by nature,
Not mans urges to confiscate the bounty.
Silver, crystal, these metals granted to men,
But in absence of civility, only worthless,
Mans’ power to collect and recollect knowledge,
Absent minded and fatal, if used for more then natural intent.
Birds, messengers, freedom riders, no bound to one nation,
But the skies themselves carry them in joyous smiles,
Those felt through wind of backs and necks, on a hot day,
Or in a cloud soaked in rain and soft moisture,
Breathing these breezes to people and the earth,
So secrets are kept from men, for men to find.


II: Child

Still-born, a baby lies in a cradle, gone.
Mother’s eyes whispered by tears,
Behind those tears, jealousy, envy,
Sadness over the forbidding life,
Innocence claimed before, it could claim itself.
Innocence in its smallest fashion, yet most comforting,
Some say God claims good young, some believe it not.
Still roots lead back to the mother-tree.
The giver of life, and the resurrected Saint of our world,
Babies, her children, adults her vassals, and herself,
The mentor.




III: War and Aftermath

Disaster spoken from barrels, of loaded silver,
Explosions lasting through dawn after night before,
One lonely soul, stained by dark-red liquid,
Pulsing from his forehead, and the forehead of another,
Collect is this liquid, upon his body, every lasting scar,
Lives taken and then shipped away,
Nor to heaven or hell, awaiting purgatory, or perhaps nature,
Still they breathe, in the air, cries distantly heard, and reheard,
But ignored by the fashion of fear,
Mans’ engineered fancy, to ignore natural consciousness, falls short,
Still in the judgment of natural courses.


IV: Ascension


Another locomotive moving past causeways,
A nesting ground for plants, and spirits,
Dancing, cheering to have passed.
In between the mother-trees roots,
And beyond stars, and blackness of space,
These few who deserve pure light,
With the impure comes cleansing after-mortality,
Birth of immortality, souls fixed to adore it,
The gift long sought by explorers, and empires,
Yet still a fragile child in its own nature,
Given to souls past mortality, past greed,
Ones who prove to be more then impure.