Friday, September 29, 2006

The Promise

Do not have fear my daughter,
those black shapes
are only priests
who pass in the night,
those burning eyes
are only stars
wandering in the sky,
the blood which
flows from my breasts
is but the milk
which you must drink
to revive yourself.
Do you see the fires
coming from the distant mountains?
They are the angels
coming to carry me to heaven.
Do not have fear,
the man with the gun
will help you.

The first in the cycle of six. Nearly 40 years old, this poem. How far have we come in all that time?