I wonder, I see the blue
Lightning across the space;
My question is: “Who are you?”
“Your spirit”, - somebody says.
The spirit, is it the spear,
That pierces me and destroys?
Or is it rather the smear,
The toil together with toys?
The spirit, is it the speed
Without abominable bounds,
Or is it rather the creed,
That in itself abounds?
The spirit, is it the spire,
That shows me the being of God,
Or is it an attempt to hire
The Deity for the plod?
The spirit, is it the spite
Of flesh, that doesn’t understand
The God with His silent bride,
The soul, for whom there is no end?
The spirit, is it the spark
Of the fire, that is free
To burn its bare, beggarly bark
In the non-existent sea?
“Yourself are the wretched crew
That all false prophets decry,
The trinity, that is you,
Your body, your soul and I”.
1995.
The spirit
© Copyright: Владимир Микушевич, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112061609196
Свидетельство о публикации №112061609196
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