–God’s Manchild has fallen from Grace–

It Began…
Before history was remembered.
Before the future was forgotten.

It was…
A sweet dance with Heaven’s forsaken Children.
The collective Prometheans who taught us the Way.
Winged Mercuries who breached that infinite Gap
At the expense of themselves.

And now…
No silent screams can save us.
No thunderous prayers can move mountains.
For mustard seeds are burning suns
Too large
too bright
to touch.
Forever scorching the fingers of lost children reaching for faith.


About Universal Shift

I am the Sonata Unusual. I coat myself with some obtuse angle too far below zero to become any warmer. I create motivation, activate schemas, moisten gardens with scents of natural honeydew. Construct this meaning, you sleepy flock. Silence your singing—despairing contortions out of tune. Shatter the brittle butterfly glass with your hideous wailing. I am born of my god’s imagination. When I die I shall meet him. For there are many things to discuss over tea…or scotch.

Posted on December 9, 2011, in Author, Fiction, Religion and Spirituality, writing and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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