The Healing Ways of Water

By Roy Doughty

The middle of the night, and a heaven,
Where the last slim arc of moon
Has quietly set, gleams only
With a misty sheen of darkness
And a few, faint, wobbling stars.

Yet there is a potency
Now coursing
Through the brain’s wild circuitry
Which dissolves all darkness,
So that inside, even the night
Is made luminous
In this exuberant fountaining of bliss.

How deep and sweet the silence has become,
Deliciously unfolding a melodious present,
Which sweeps all cares away.
The air floats choirs and choirs of celebrant angels,
Their plasma orbs a-shimmer in atmospheres,
Which can never be dark or empty or impoverished again.
They speak. They sing.
And all those jumbled channels,
Those floes of granulation in the brain,
Plunge joyously into the joyous heart,
As bright streams plunge into the placid ocean.

Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.