First Words Last Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

This mind in trance
from earth to all
the lover of them
imagination called…
first, of mystical spirits
to their praise, at their will
all their understanding
each mystery will be filled…
Mortal; you who carry hidden drama’
foolish things, various fantasies
short dreams and passing times
minded of this earth must awaken…
seek your worth; for all
of this earth have time
the secret of imagination
gathering their passage
transforming objections
questioning nothing lunatic…
Lovers to one object
that fooling tool’s pen
think, ‘Three’ in bond
speak in many tongues
escape with the shame
from profiteering’s nothings…
Legions, of lovers, all slaves
bound by a circle; sleep
driven by a longing to surrender
lost of God, frenzied in captivity
craving all mystery; and naming
one thousand men…
Man, and Woman
within this one’s hand
this earth, to which
the ‘wall’ is shown
consciously to the foolish
aware; this earth speaks
rejoice and ‘He’ is…