Chasm

no clue

A supernova chasms the way to my eyes. Behind the closed door of imagination I try and search the serenity pocket for my hope. I seek the trails of tails surrounded by garden flowers with roots throughout the cement of cracked travels and divergent stories held in a hand that only crumble like parchment when the Ancient of Days wants. El is His name who tends the garden flowers like glass spheres that contain my life. The distance to the stalk to climb is easier to walk to than the duty itself as I stare up at the grave site I’ve been put in. How did I get here, more a statement than a quest really. I reach up as my hand slips from the dropped water of a clowns large joke of a tear. I feel the ant hill from Links Du Drei Vier marching two by thousands going vertical in their glass container rather than the tube. Darker and lighter it gets, easier they who who don’t believe say it is, worse off are the lukewarm. Are we the people of the book or are they fed a lie though they are passionate. More fairy tales of genies that don’t make sense and come from smokeless fire. Is that what Moses saw? Oh remember the glass spheres because they will not be lost if we are in the True Book.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

"More fairy tales of genies that don’t make sense and come from smokeless fire. Is that what Moses saw?"
Good thoughts in the poem. The mystery of life can have simple answers. I enjoyed your thoughts in the amazing poem.
Coyote