Good Friday

In the depth of deep and broken sorrows
as things go unsaid and others lunge on
or from the phylus a flower blooms
through the tough in the thickness of moments

as though a whole world sped upon wings
to announce of a forest in each thing
a portion of a new and old song, spring,
its talons rise the wind you can see in

beyond the point of distinguishing now
is the tune of melodious honor
extinquishing the winter of horror
and alights on Persephone's bower

as a sparkle a meteor showers
crossing the platinum evening hour.