The temple bell dies away
An Empire scatters to the winds
But the scene of a flower
In the evening air
Is Immortal, like the Rose
Whose red-spirituality
Is still tolling the bell
Still Holding up the Empire
Of beauty, this haunts even the sun
A silence at the palace chambers
Of the mystic visionary heart
The dream of life from
All my other dreams, the last symbol
She spreads infinity scrawled
In her pink petals to the starry sea
Each time I encounter that
The sacred fire that is God’s temple lit
A unity of the universe in a leaf
I know the spirit wears its own plumes
Back to the source of our divinity.
Call to Poets CONTEST, enter your 3 best poems:
http://www.writerscafe.org/contests/Wuji-International-Poetry-Festival-V/49443/
To read about it:
https://seshatwuji.wordpress.com/wuji-international-poetry-festival/%5D
Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/rose-152423323
Wuji Seshat 
Reblogged this on Syl65's Blog and commented:
Excellent
Lovely imagery. My favorite lines: “I know the spirit wears its own plumes/Back to the source of our divinity.”
Thanks Jennifer, I try to weave some mysticism in there (if I can)
remember when still a young child without many words? and there was this flower, a rose, and all it was to [you] upon first experience was a float as your face felt beautiful aligning into its petals and the fragrance consumed and now you think back and it was better not to have words because any word would have stopped the pleasure of being with beauty as you were in that momment? you capture that – the mystery of a rose throughout eternity still remains. thank you.
That’s so true Katherine, I’m glad you thought of that and reminded me of it again.