Sunday, June 28, 2009

Enter Now . . . the Prophesy


A Renaissance is brewing.
There are Weavers . . . great Artists
in the wings
playing harps of discontent
waiting . . .
waiting . . .
for the fine strings to unravel.
Crystal clarity envelops them
but the path they seek to ride
is cluttered with confusion and debris.

Old thought must die now
all that can survive
must come from spirit minds
cloned with highest
visions for mankind.
The noise that rises from the earth
is deafening to gentle stars
adrift in velvet darkness.
They are praying . . .
praying for us
to remember
who we are. . .
to remember the great and
valiant call . . .
the echoes of the great chiefs
and saints and humble spirits
whose sobs reverberate
stirring the dark black hole
that leads to our redemption.

How will we continue?
This quest is not political
no partisans are welcome here
when our humanity is at stake.

Look! . . . They approach now!
There! In the sky . . . a great omen.

There . . . see! They come . . .glorious
Three stallions . . . riding on the clouds with wild
and furious manes unfurled
they charge with giant hooves of sapphire.

The first is midnight black
the smoke of all lost tribes
surging through his raging nostrils.
“Why?” he asks, in voice of thunder.
“Why . . . have you not listened?”

And now another sound
of great wind howling through the skies
advancing wild and raptured
an ancient Appaloosa upon whose back
the horseman rides.
“When . . . When?” he cries with loud
uproarious voice.
“We are waiting!!”

And then a sudden stillness parts the skies
No sound escapes the silence . . . silence
and in the distance
a red-hued sun begins to rise,
the firmament
encased with brilliance.
And then . . .
Oh Glory!
Oh Majesty!
He comes,
He comes!
The great White Spirit Horse
with eyes of fire and legs of alabaster
his silver mane aloft, alive
with lightening flashing through
the heavens
and on his back . . . the Holy One
the Ageless One . . . but see
He wears no plate of armor
no sword is reeled
yet He is shining . . . shining
brighter than the sun . . .
the God-Child comes
and in his hands
red glowing embers
of his flaming heart.
“Who will carry this?”
“Who will take my burden?”

And from his heart
Red glowing tears . . . embers
shooting stars
Falling . . . falling
to the earth like manna
come to rest on those with
outstretched hands
and the burden of the God-Child
was received,
the burden of the earth and all
its creatures
and mankind wept
tears of gold . . .
as the ancient ones departed and
the winds ceased to roar
the sheath of heaven closed
to find a renaissance beginning

and see . . . the earth is turning green again.

Joanne Cucinello 2007


  1. My dear -- and I arrive to find beautiful powerful words and white horse....for your creative spirit, I am grateful :)
    Fair of heart

  2. Again, Joanne, you have captured the reader with intensity and let us see your vision in words..Intensive message and delivery with strength...It is a beautiful write and I can relate well, as I feel the winds of change...

  3. Fair of Heart . . . yes, your beloved white horse, I'd almost forgotten. So happy you passed this way to read, dear Pat.


  4. Margaret,
    Thank you so much! Those of us who feel the winds of change must ride them . . . I'm glad you're riding with us.



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