Whilst I was sat, indifferent, no care,
A golden aura drenched, suffused the air,
Behind me, felt the aura manifest,
Distinguished by its golden colour blessed,
An angel who'd sung woe for me, alack,
With gentle pressure rapped upon my back,
Showed divinest beauty of my words,
Said my poetry admit me to God's herd,
In time the angel said My name is John,
My cheeks flushed rosy, killed the pallor wan,
I could tell from his enchanted drawl,
The angel John had come from Liverpool,
Then he invited me upon his wings,
To meet the angels, listen how they sing,
Grafting for Peace, a team aspiring,
Rushing round the earth in golden rings,
The earthen angels with loves light enmeshed,
Their names were blake and Buddha and ganesh,
Shooting angel message like gods darts,
In to sad, beleaguered human hearts,
Then to meet archangels of the sky,
Chasing light where bonny angels fly,
Then to shiva, beaming, proud, supreme,
Painted with a pallet got from dream,
Then to cosmic churning, tuneful truth,
Knelled out sure with beauty rare forsooth,
To most of us the blessed truth, aloof,
But I listened, and wisdom I sure hath,
Beyond seismic ocean, something more,
A goddess, deva, Kali, beauty sure,
Against the demons in incessant war,
A goddess irresistible to adore,
She, the truest vision of myself,
Tis good I strove to fly to spirits health,
And trusted John to climb upon his wings,
For he I sing, most cherishable of things
