A verse inscribed in fire and light
In The Garden He Gives Me the Silent Treatment
Oblatum est tributis serviens. Speramus enim placitum est in oculis vestris.
I’ve seen into the eye sockets and spirits of a few good men, and I’ve
Seen them all ascend to salvation, but I don’t know this new you from the
Primordial evolutionary ooze, even though I know The Garden like the back of my hand
This may be the kickstart to something beautiful, the crowdsourced cynicism that saves the soul from guilt (Or even accountability)
It is so kind of you to include me in the silence between your words, where you also put the unutterable name above all names
In the name of freedom, outside every social construct and social contract,
Today is the first day of the rest of your boring life
I see scales in one hand and a saber in the other
But if you really sought justice you would seek to understand
Why he did what he did
Why it rains on the just and the unjust equally
Why twelve inches make a foot, why there were splinters in The Cross
But no one here has been crucified, or needs to know, needs to reap or sow or even, necessarily, needs to walk or speak. There is no miracle in this
Non peto ut ipsum ab alio renascetur
The empty Chapel Perilous. There is strange magic in the way you walk down Pear Street without once looking back, Ava Morgana-
I seek to understand, why a test of faith is required when I do not even know to want the grail, when I have not tasted of the blood (turned back into wine, miraculously)
Ava Morgana, and I may sit in this old church waiting for one of us, the God, the man, or the Godman, to yield
This is the first day of the rest of my boring life.
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