New Morning

A mockingbird morning and the sky a song.

Thrilled, my spirit lighter than the air

Soared aloft among the winged throng

That brightly flocked in coloured waves of prayer.

A morning to see the wings of God unfold

Transporting us to worlds above our dreams

And wake to a vision every heart might hold,

Of a golden light cascading down in streams

As golden children whose eyes aflame with love

Dance amidst our frail mortality;

A psychic emancipation from above

The ultimate sanction of divinity.

From this plinth of matter we must rise

Our truth to find, our souls to recognize.