Oral Traditions

I’ll whisper to you
the delicate sagas of
a world before its fall.
The charming sonnets sung
by voiceless choirs of birds
will make the willows weep.
Hear the epics told with a zealous ferocity
by the warm summer breeze.

I’ll enchant you with the hopes and dreams
of a caring mother nursing a tiny life
to superior health.

Lady Gaia Moves beneath the
down-trodden hearts of men.

I will bellow the frustrations
of a raging storm bent on destruction.

I’ll tell you of the legends of
angels and men caught together
in the chaotic cycle of
God’s eternity.

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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 September 5, 2012, in Author, Fiction, Philosophy, poetry, Religion and Spirituality, Spirituality, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

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