John Gregory Evans © 2020
Jeramiah, the fire within
comets the skies of angels, and
the interior realms where within –
Monastery of the Angels,
Greek Orthodox never loved so High.
Like anthropology, I believe!
Sixty miles out, the coolness of air, and of deep breaths,
My unexpected and pleasing friend
from the fires of love, a living being
never exonerated except through death,
my, the world of men so vile.
A Patriarchal scheme, I’d say, the filth
of false truths, and of whole lies.
The chapel floor shines from tears of
Our Mother, O mine!
The Holy One is in pursuit
for his Beloved child’s restitute,
the very one he has risen
to the Throne of Holies.
I think in cities of concrete and steel
there remain men who abhor
all living things, except themselves.
Life goes beyond graves of holy men.