Holy Incorruptible Rose
who arose
from the stone-hewn,
fire-strewn
sepulcher,
where my drowsy heart-guards
sought to stop your stir
of that crumbling tumult of dreams
which keep
the world as the world seems
in its sleep.
You who breathed fire
forth like a flood
and poured upon thorns
your innocent blood,
you who met fishermen
upon the day-break dew
on a gray dappled, sea-soaked shore
where the wind of the day-star blew,
surely your hour at last has come
your wind-filled, full-fire blows,
filled with the fragrance of eternity's flower,
Holy incorruptible Rose
who arose....
Poem © Blake Steele 1987