The silver has a tarnish
The dust has dulled the sheen
Scratch and rub and polish
Can’t see what has been.
And then a gift of diamonds
A hard edge memory
Scratch and expose the centre
The birds are flying free.
Against a stormy, ragged sky
Their flight is bright & strong
The silver-winged mob cuts long and high
And explodes into heavenly song.
The rags and dust fall away
And a clean crisp shows
A mixture of metal and clay
The power and the glory grows.
This moment of strength & passion
Is a flash of brilliant lightning
Then in a moment’s reflection, crashing
The empty space echoes so frightening.
Words are clumsy pretenders of the images of my mind.