The Course of
Nature
If heaven too had passions even heaven would grow old ~
Li Ho
Poor angels their high regard
fixed beyond the outer
horizon of stars
with tranquil fascination
watch the generation
and destruction of worlds
their urgent stride
shatters the capitals
of empires their serene
breath and thunderous wings
blast continents and seas
until sometimes randomly
distracted by the stray
falling of a small songbird
the delicate drift of white
ash inside a furnace
their eyes clouded
with unbearable pain and weariness
oblivious of their feet
bleeding from flints
vast wings moulting
and raw with neglect
newly they survey
all the tiny and discrete
effects of the world
and weeping to witness
such quick and irreversible decay
they stoop to gather them
into eternity and so
become the prey of immense
cats that sniff them
out to maul and play
fully dismember as they dine
on the rare giblets
of felled seraphs
and their squab
© Trevor Joyce