At the opening—silence for half a time.
Not even the angels, seven,
with their trumpets, seven.

What does it conceal, the seventh seal?
Come! Open! Beckon us all!
Declare eternities eventual.

We shall become incense smoke rising,
as the prayers of the saints, golden,
on the altar mixed with blood, golden.


View the painting that inspired the poem.

July 20, 2018 — Alexandra Hunter
Tags: poetry