Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

Up in the Sky,
Above the thick Forests,
I heard a bird,
Whistling away this song:
Some lives and souls are like the cannopy of dense jungles,
Lush and heavy with green foliage,
They creep with green,
They block out light,
Under Their Great Shade,
Piles of their fruits are laid waste,
And the bruising,
The blue flesh,
Opens up the heart,
To the rays of sunshine,
That had been knocking on  the doors,
And a ray of daylight,
Comes into the hut,
And out of the hurt,
The soul that lived behind the veil,
Sees the day,
And the world,
There are some rays of the Sun,
That penetrate the mind only through hurts,
 And injuries,
 And wounds,
And the opening of the flesh,
By  the sharp or blunt object,
And the closing up of the injury,
And the healing,
 That might have been helped by a suture,
And the scars from the gash that heals,
Give the heart the eyes it all long will not receive,
Hearts are a beautiful paradise,
Hearts are fabulous worlds,
And they that know the heart intimately,
Know they are also dark wells,
And cloudy  places,
Cloistered from the Field,
Thickests cut off from daylight,
They are swallowed  by the Pastoral Spirit of Nature,
The Enchanting Setting,
And Scape of the Cut-Off Woods possesses them,
Hearts will by nature not admit in light,
And the heart that does not perceive,
The heart that will not be ruled by the mind,
Goes like blindworms in the Field,
And the scars of wound,
The cicatrix,
Has sealed the light,
That came in with the injury,
A candle burns in the house now,
If you will see,
You will instruct your walk,
Scars are the secateurs,
They prune the heavy green hedge,
They shear down the thick foliage,
They pare down the heavy vegetation,
And loosen up the dense green,
Bringing the light in,
With which the green,
Makes food for life.
(R).
Fritz Ampon.