Sleeping face upwards in the fields all night,

You will hear the din of a thousand baleful cries

Among the dusky sea of identical monuments

That like a poor idle regiment are the

Forlorn divisions of stone.

 

O Lord, do you see these wounds we carry

How we wander up and down lamenting

Like gypsies nicknaming the stars

And even as the unemployed soldier walks his melancholy path

And bleeds tears for conflict – we pray for the past to return.

 

But persist through pedantic expressions

From the palpable flatterer in white,

Living the tale of the pale physicians;

Who got their meals by selling miracles.

 

You feel the silence and sorrow to never entertain the glory of hope

You will do penance to angry Gods and

Wear your scars like the old lion

Cleave your heart, mar the flesh

To bask and howl in moonlight awhile

Then

Could I heal to hear

The voice of God

Vox Dei

Whispered blessings

Now only in my dreams

Clean and clear

Mending souls

Pure and perfect

O, the government of heaven has heard

And I know now

In this light natural now supernatural

That we will do nothing but melt our spirits together,

To solder up the holes in our souls

And ponder on

Goodbyes to Rose

Who goes sleeping face upward in the fields all night.

 

She will hear the din of a thousand baleful cries

Turn and turn to laughter and praises

And glide along the silver sea of identical monuments

This happy regiment,

These sweet soldiers of stone

 

O Lord do you see this meat of mortality

That has transformed and passed on

These human hands that will go to the madmen there

To those sunbathing beggars and lazy hedge-keepers

Sleeping face upwards in the fields all night.