ESCHATOLOGY ( = A Study of Last Things)

I hated the last period of school

I liked the innocence in school bell

As it let us grow up to a world

Where some roads were guilty

Others were punitive

I hated the last rain

Many were reduced to mere


I hated the last summer

Sun was harsh

A plant on the road side

Died of thirst

The last poem

I wrote was in tears

Yet the last month of the year

Brings a hope

Stars shine in the cold sky

Ancient reminder of birth

Of new sons of God

Next year’s diary has 365

Pages full of unwritten poems

Smiling in anticipation

Of sparks willing to become flames

New flowers will bloom

Regenerating reasons to live

As I lift my arms towards you

opening the lid of  my  heart

( Dedicated to bringer of joys)

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