Prophetic Vision Worldwide

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Prophetic Poem

Poem by Emily Isaacson

Visit her hallmark blog to read more poems from her next book. 


The feathery bars of a cage

pronounced order from the chaos of

freedom; call me home

and I’ll become a ray

that slips through the stark white bars

and disappears.

The moon rising in a half sliver

was red, and called me freedom.


She rose into the smoke and ash,

between the sun and the moon

as a pheasant would,

golden plumed,

primed to recall

all beauty for mourning

with a sweet voice, lilting trill:

no cage can hold this song.