Mystic Exile
by Alice C. Linsley
An island is no broad earth and yet
a universe of stones
where sands deny the foot firm ground
and wave hot fingers at the shade.
Here St. John in curling dunes
with mystic sight beheld
the wick of faith sputter and dim
the kingdoms roar and crash.
His prayer-trained ears heard trumpets blast
and pounding hooves gave way
to shouts of joy and glad refrains
across the watery stage.
(Published in Ancient Paths, Issue 13, 2005)
2 comments:
Wonderful poem.
One of my treasures, given to me by a friend who got it from a friend of hers who had visited Greece, is an odd-looking purple-brown and cream aggregate stone from Patmos. It seems doubtful that this little rock had anything to do with St. John so long ago, but it does indeed come from the place where he had that strange, glorious, and incomprehensible view into the heavens.
A "universe of stones", indeed, on a planet where we find no firm footing, and yet find ourselves directed beyond this island earth,
beyond the watery stage before the Throne, to behold Him before whom all creation bows.
ed
I glad that you like the poem, Ed.
The stone you describe is a wonderful gift and a connection to a special place. I've never been to Patmos, but visiting there is one my wish list!
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