White Orthodox Cathedral and Extreme Holiness
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
A veil of little limbs obscures the curve
Of daylight blue and stars of gold against
The truest color of the sky. The swerve
Of perfect dome is loveliness condensed
With constellation glory and the hue
That every god would want within his mind.
That shapely color is that sweep of blue
Jehovah scintillated just behind
The primal beams he spoke. Those primal lights
Came out of six-point stars of gold, a gold
Before the gold we know, a gold from heights,
A gold more rarified of hurtful cold.
And were it not for perfect curve and sway,
Light, stars and blue could only bring dismay.
~ Phillip Whidden