Pleroma

Our telescopes revealed no empyrean curious eyes wandered through the dead interstellar depths dwelling in the faint light of distant stars gliding like cold gusts of wind whistling the bristled reeds of our catechisms We carved saviors from birch and sculpted marble idols deceased deities emblems of stiffened superficiality shimmer our shrines, their images onerously ornating our molded mandalas We inhale the cadence of rustic resurgence through a tube tied to a golden disc suspended with the amethyst stratus clouds westward winds spill the serum as we unwillingly wobble out of our ritualistic degradation Our image ripples through the celestial canyons eternity looms above us inhibiting the stratosphere the nearer we go, the more vividly we recollect the tumultuous tundra chill that accompanied our divorce from our pleroma our antidote to the omen of cognizance