Prophetic Vision Worldwide

header photo

Music Video

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.