Poetry

The Seraph stands before the fires of hell 
Blowing her trumpet, like a sea conch shell 
Holding it in her out stretched arms 
With all her grace and her charms 
Her body glistening with pearls of sweat 
The heat melting away, all the worlds fret 
Gently blowing her creation to life 
Caressing to form it; like the hands of a wife 
The creation starts out, like a child 
First small... meek... and then mild 
The color, now she will blow 
And her piece will begin to grow and grow 
It's more then the sands of this earth 
With all the pain, sweat, and love... she gives it birth 
With her Aura here before the glory 
Each creation has it's own story 
And annealing now all through the night 
She'll awaken to a new delight

Rhonda Baker