Author: abelpors

Crystal Clear

One night I found myself, in the waters of mirror lake;
Caught up in reflection, without sound or move to make.
The surface still and quiet, the world a pane of glass;
Frozen in the moment, no time could ever pass.
Such a lucent clarity could never be described;
A beauty that, once broken, could never be revived.
I knew that at the lightest touch, a tremor of the hand;
The whole of it would shatter, the glass would turn to sand.
Curse my frail humanity, I willed my hand to stay;
But the mirror turned to dust, the image blew away.


The Secret of Life

The world is a mean and broken place,
Rife with pain and suffering;
Under the black and badness, though,
Something still shines through;
The light of beauty and peace is found,
In the dawning of every day;
Nothing can ever truly conceal,
How wonderfully the world was made;
Impossibly complex, an infinite cosmos,
Made for a definite purpose.


Music swells and fills the air,
With melody pure, crystalline fair;
Catches the eddies all around;
Fills the world with a beautiful sound.


What power has a flag,
With stripes and colors bold;
Or no more than a rag,
Tattered, beaten, old.
Flying, it commands respect,
Swings at the gentlest gust;
Causing men to all reflect,
What they do, and must.

The Forsaken Church

Doors, oaken, never ajar;
Locked up tight with bolt and bar:
The church is not what it was.
Light through the stained glass slanting;
A raven in the belfry ranting:
The church is not what is was.
Shadows dancing down the aisle;
Sliding o’er the tarnished tile:
The church is not what it was.
Above, a high and lofted ceiling;
Filled with a cold and empty feeling:
The church is not what it was.
Pews, worn from long ago;
Dust filling every row:
The church is not what it was.
Once, choral voices ringing;
Now, utter silence singing:
The church is not what it was.