The Last Morning

The waning sun of dying hours
faded to glorious sounds
(whistling cheers of hidden words)
and pictures of the men and
women clad in crowns of flowers,
and children of our friends.
They stand in line and crossed
their fingers for the fisher band.

And from the skies that disappeared
I saw a scroll display prophecies
untold to kings who ruled in earthly days.
These things, they echo down the hall
and light the ancient way -
a straight and narrow road
that leads to fatherly embrace.

On my knees I saw his feet,
his sandals made of gold.
Then I heard a voice so sweetly
kind in its grandeur. The sound of
rushing rivers past my ears
like mystery. He wiped my tears
with nail pierced hands cut for eternity.

And I look in your eyes
so much fire that I won't stay cold
And I look in your heart
so much love that I won't lay low

Copyright Dawn Fung
Completed April 2007