Glimpses [sonnet]
The truly honeyed parts of life for me
are in the glimpses gifted to the soul.
For as I age they come more frequently —
shattering shafts of light which make us whole.
If you’re intrigued to know what these could be
(to know what curtains angels may remove)
they only flap them briefly so we see
what lies beyond all words (their world to prove).
But yet, more than the mereness of a glimpse
I long to know: “Please show me all!”, I cry.
“Not in this flesh; for human matter limps
its way to paradise,” was their reply.
Therefore I cherish every glimpse I view;
for through those veils or curtains lies what’s true.
© Alan Morrison, 2016
The Naked Troubadour 