I never left this place of marble and gold trim. The earth was young and I was here to shout for it. The storied photon-fire mists through the billowing veil and the singularly un-visored eyes of these wizened angels, cured with age and smiles.
This gorgeous poem leans toward the idea of an infinite past existence of divinities—not embryos but mature—always seeking MORE . . . by living in temporary veiled experiments.
This gorgeous poem leans toward the idea of an infinite past existence of divinities—not embryos but mature—always seeking MORE . . . by living in temporary veiled experiments.
Thanks for sharing this.
Randall Paul