The Field of Heaven’s Stars

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

If we could harvest galaxies and stars,

And constellations, burning, flaming orbs,

And leave behind however many stars

We dared to reap from darkness that absorbs

Those parts of space (but leaving many fires

In place) that fraction then would still provide

Enough totality to shed desires

Like hail that hurts our hearts in whirling wide

Flamed conflagration, shed those harming stabs

Right through our chests and through our filling parts,

The stinging of those hailstone flames like jabs

Of healing needles through our willing parts.

  The meadows of the harvest flowers will

    Reach within our souls and overfill.

© Phillip Whidden