The Last Poem

  
Awaken!
 
The dervish whirling    
in the sky  
his golden liquor    
shall run dry  
and poured shall be  
the final drop  
of drunkenness caught  
inside our cup  
   
Rolling darkness    
from every lip  
the sum of every daughter    
and son  
that centuries swallowed    
to be reborn    
their screams now sighs    
weary worn    
of skies ripped from  
the cosmic womb    
   
In folds of flowers  
will find their song    
in a fulgent  
new emerging dawn  
   
Stirring from her silk cocoon  
a wreathed and winged    
mortal god  
the branch to spring  
its fragrant bloom    
and pour majestic mystic wine    
ransomed through her precious blood    
mellifluous upon her tongue    
the poem last  
whose hour’s come  
exceeding all that’s come    
and gone  
Holy of Holies    
since Homer and Hesiod