While clocks depict motion the tides touch
Cadence.
Being in company the ache of its reality
The value of its resonance
Such as souls couldn’t unlock, nor surmise
With presence posing as temple key.
Neither understands.
One might know fathoms, assess skies,
And scribble affectations: so many colors,
So many prisms, sol the depths.
So great an upsurge, to witness transition,
Patterns, spirit-mnemonics.
It will shift. It will dance. It has a purpose.
Certain piety of humans to the matter;
Grayness of certainty, excellence of the Hermetic—training and absorption.
The mind is like a collar, when made holy;
Tethered to ideals—
Evermore at seeking—
To know many were lethal, such radiant
Sunshine, to wonder about those stories—to Ponder in absence, hearts as one, to have
Sailed such spheres.
And to sense some measure, some design—
To have appointed by blues.
So much life in one crucible.
Most are with sound reality, to have known
Certain measure, to have become Church &
Bell.
Some séances one goes to freely. Others come to us.
Richness of interior, confused as it waltzes—
With arts facing walls, sheer passion—as it
Grapples with itself.
To become energy. To become wings.
