W.A. Mozart

Ali

Feeling good
after the autumn masquerade
has run its' course
Lost in illness,
relying on the prayers
of a dove,
For God himself to pick me up
off my feet
to the Grand piano
to the absolute pen
to the den of chilvalerous men
while annunciations
seem so close to memory,
as palm Sunday winds around
each pumicestone.
For in the light,standing,
and in utter darkness,
mind agaze,
I reflect on the piety of those
awakening pure challenge
I know not what has arrived,
or what I have created,
For eternally grateful
to receive my graces.

adev