type being slowly recognized in my mind as that of natural
beauty, situated in times of passive sorrow.
Feeling it within, letting it consume me with a secret code,
being translated as quickly as I write it into this poem.
Not noticing anything besides myself, finding many thoughts
to arrange just so within my mind, letting myself be totally
engrossed in a subconscious world all my own.
Disallowing sleep, jumping onto escalators,attempting to reach the highest number of imagescontained in one moment.Settling in, sipping a hot cup of tea, thinkingof good things done in bygone days.Reminiscing shadows, quietly sitting on the flooraround me, awaiting their turns to appear andbring good cheer and happiness into poetry.
Sanctioning every thought as if falls upon prayers said in catacombs of yore.Feeling along stone walls, grasping stale air with tantamount sincerity.At last, emitting signals to match prosaic symbols and omens as they focus carefully on edges of tomorrow.Saturating even my brain cells with watchful sight, taking in every particle of each separate vision.Keeping together…
How could he possibly have learned how to fly?Or known just how to go under water to catch a fish just in the nick of time?Wonders of nature – are they all instinct – or are they learned in schools we know nothing of?
have clouded the issues with lies.Proof lies nowhere, there are no facts – no data – tosubstantiate their proposed offerings.
Walking quietly down the aisle towards the altar, seeing my Lord standing there before me, giving me a sign of future answers being given.
