Angels
raped in the defiled
Trinitarian church
maybe Autumn’s dawn, her golden reflections,
will color your wings.
Angels above niches and windows
still gliding across the large cupola
in the early morning a desperate prayer spreads
from the lips of dead soldiers
candles in the sad church
burn on broken alters
and you hear in the wails of the wounded
the prisoners’ pathos
behind rusted barbed wire
when thirsty lips
mutter God’s name
the earth’s harvest sways
in cornucopias and laurel wreaths
and bells, once cast,
still clang
circles of sound in the reawakening towers
where live hearts beat still.
(Judita Vaiciunaite)
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