Restlessly seeking out innocence: A poem 

In the chapel’s gold, blue and white 

where bells ring and angels alight 

How fervent prayer does not bring 

calm that is as expensive as bling 

The yellow petals of illusions in the sun 

Waking, baking like insolent dogs on the run 

Hungering like a bunyan shouting through hanging roots 

Its soul seeking out all the yesteryears’ truths 

Can there be moisture in the sands parched from baking, 

in the leaves in heaps and piles from raking? 

Even dancing heatwaves fall unbearably silent 

Insubstantial voices that fill each moment 

The aged wants to bosom, but there’s no child in the cradle 

The curry in innocence’s pot is without ladle 

How can it be sated, this restless forlorn seeking? 

with the weeping willow of life’s knowledge cheating