One pearl is barred from a pasture of sod.
It will blame doubt, like dying from cook’s oil;
It scatters from a brightness, like the booze of toil
Flushed. When do gems then bleed heart red with fraud?
Accusations half flawed, half flawed, half flawed;
And straw is smeared with jade; jeered, steared to spoil;
And stone stands judged and stares past hell: old soil
Is new now, for man’s soul feels, being god.
And from womb’s bliss, babies are heaven’s scent;
Prayer gives the rarest, truest, fresh gold rings;
And slow the fast nights cough the brushed west spent
See, dawning, as the bronze glaze eastward, sings – –
Applaud the holy pearl’s lone assent
Jeweled harps with worn crests cry with awe! sprung strings.
A weak attempt at Sprung Rhythm for dVerse