4:32

4:32

A Poem by KhemiJegna

There was an itch for the heights
A tickle for a scratch 
I laughed 
It danced from the chin to the crown of my head
Not a spill in this state of perfection
The base of cup sang a tune 
The base of the jug was a b minor 
In awe of the frequency to the ears
I awe the science of the impossible 
For there is no air up here for such tune to travel 
I did not question Omni 
Nor his kingdom closer than my jugular vein 
For His word is Lord
...My word is Lord

© 2016 KhemiJegna


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Added on April 29, 2016
Last Updated on June 30, 2016