The Epistle Of The Clouds Poem by Orin MSH

On the clouds are writ
Fair sonnet that soothes the souls
Embracing its wounds, humoring its wit
The ‘oft unvoiced poetry found in nature
The woodland and moors lined
With the boughs and branches entangling
Woven with the roots scraping fair earth
Nature that one is always pining for.

The gentle wind whispering through the cracked moon
In dreams caressed by immutable beauty
The whispers of gnats and crickets in the groves
The sigh of sullen voiceless creatures
A nightingale soars suddenly in the dark
Of the land coveted by many
For its blinding spark.

The night's blue moon sails in the pale clime
The luminous orb gently pries away
Darkness has taken hostage of our day
The graceful waves turn to a raging storm
The calm thereafter, and sleepers roused
Fair nature's sweetly-intoned chorus.

Ages long, the incessant shores blow
Its breakers on the heathen crags
To become rhapsodies, splendiferous
Notes that appease our brooding souls
The dance of clouds in their star-decked skies
Whose rhythms are limericks and mere doggerels
That taunts and riles the wounded heart
That dries the blood, blunts the nails, letting it curl
The shadowy oceans on our moons are torched
Its scorching sun no longer burns
For all devoutly creations.

The evergreen, dew-dappled leaves
The sapphire skies should trickle down
The drizzle ever shrouding sentiments
Sound asleep on the bed of whims
Laid to rest in the chamber of fevered fancy
The sodden breeze continuously call out
With the murmur of his leafy love
Without ever any discord or feud.

In the ceaseless sea without blessed land
The archipelagoes that are fecund with seeds
On the peninsula wide as the world
On the floor strewn with fallen leaves
The trees of our ancestry grows aggrieved
Yet green though the hailed tempest
Nothing ever stays, everything flows
While nature stands still.

Her graceful melody proudly sings
In stanzas prim and rhymes proud
Echoing the glorious praise of our Lord
On a drop of dew, the wilderness speaks
Of bees on the petals of wild-bloomed flowers
Imbibing on the nectarine for their haughty queen
The lowly worm breathing in the green deeps
Metamorphosis of a primped butterfly;
Its catharsis, the unfolding of the wings
That soars through a heaven of dreams
And that is the circle of the living
Though the sun flashes its loving light
In the darkness of things not yet become
The universe rose out of His love.

And I have gazed at God's grandeur
Until it becomes a glimmering epitaph
(The heart's message, the soul's verse)
Inundated by the stars shattering the dark
The heavy drops of melancholy has come to end
Inscribed on an emerald-shaped memory
Of the clouds sprung from this pen
And of all things that now shall be
As He wills it to be.