The Seasons Of The Sun Poem by Marieta Maglas

I am in the shadow of that reality
that will become existent.

I feel the solar spring
when the glaciers
continue to melt at the poles.
The words are alive;
they don't burn yet,
but still, I prefigure their blistering heat.
I do know that God is watching over us.
He is watching over everything
and over the disoriented people
needing to find some love around
when their hearts are
empty or emptied.

Meanwhile, the sun orbits
its central hot star;
this rotation is egg-shaped;
makes new spirals
to blow the best out of it.

Meanwhile, the Earth speeds through its
northern summer quarter
of its revolution.

In the summer of life,
the liturgical Sundays
become concave
to bulge the thoughts outwardly.

'Tis green outside when the wind
becomes a force to
whip everything around.
I hear the crunching gravel sounding
around that Church of St. Peter
where almost deaf people enter
to listen to The Lord
while the priest tries
to catch up with
old words that have been ignored
so many centuries.

These parishioners
have always dreamed
of hiking up a spiritual mountain
to purify the true inner self.
They gain a sense of each individuality,
which is always unique.

From time to time, this earth is
in the shadow of the sun-
illuminated.
'Tis not about that darkness
belonging to those trees
reflecting the mood of their forest.
There, the mushroom grows up
from a seed of self.
Ban Chao Gang Moo unveils their secret.
Ban Chao Gang Moo is not a forest.

People still try to mess with
the powerful devil
in the coming Apocalypse.
This Apocalypse is hot, but not green.
It is solar summer, not winter.

In winter, the glaciation comes.
'Tis about that glaciation
freezing every sound and freezing everything,
especially those waves
''of the sea driven with the wind and tossed''-
freezing, not igniting
the shadow of life.

Poem by Marieta Maglas

Variant

A future reality casts a shadow over my existence.
Even though they aren't burning yet,
I can feel the solar spring and
the blazing heat of the words as
the polar glaciers continue to melt.
I am aware that God is keeping an eye on us.
He is keeping an eye on everything, including
the bewildered people who,
when their hearts are empty, need love.
In contrast, the sun revolves in an egg-shaped orbit
around its central hot star,
forming new spirals to optimize its potential.
The Earth is rapidly moving through
the northern summer quarter of
its revolution in the meantime.

The liturgical Sundays become concave
to expand the thoughts outward
during the summer of life.
When the wind turns into a force
that whips everything around, it's green outside.
Around the Church of St. Peter,
where nearly deaf people go to hear the Lord,
the free crunching footsteps sound is stronger
than the voice of the priest
when he tries to recall ancient phrases
that have been disregarded for so many centuries.
Aspiring to climb the spiritual mountain to holiness,
these parishioners have always sought
to purify their true selves.
They become conscious of
the uniqueness of every individual,
which is always distinct.

Every now and then, the earth is illuminated
by the sun's shadow.
This has nothing to do with how the trees' darkness reflects
the tone of their forest.
From a seed of self, the mushroom grows there.

Ban Chao Gang Moo unveils their secret.
Ban Chao Gang Moo is not a forest.

People still try to manipulate
the powerful devil in the looming Apocalypse.
So, while hot, this apocalypse is not green;
not winter, but solar summer.
The glaciation returns in the winter.
Any glaciation can freeze every sound and everything,
especially the wind-driven, tossed waves of the sea—
freezing without igniting the shadows of life.