The Sign

I too have seen what they saw in the sky.
It comes when, in its grumbling turgid tongue,
The storm protests the doings of all men;
And heaven’s face, obscure and overflung
With brooding thunders, clears and broods again.
Then in the air—a sudden arc appears,
Dividing light from light, as if some power
Had swept a subtle blade through heaven’s breadth,
Then sheathed it. Through the tumid atmosphere
The massing hosts perceive the shining sign.
“All men must die, but not this day or hour,”
It says in many colors. For a time
The armies waver. Then they disappear.
And mortal life goes on, and none asks why.


About middlingpoet

From the Gawain poet to Rainer Maria Rilke: I love traditional poetry.
This entry was posted in Current Events, Divine Riddles, mysticism and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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