Soundless thunder

If our third eye and heart choose to entwine, as presence looks on in childlike delight, there are no meanings we may then assign, to our wingless flight to zenith like height, drenched in bliss mists thus by day and by night. As we’re swept away in this benign storm, by magnetic pulsations cool and warm, we learn as we burn in mind-body urn, God’s light fully pervades our feeble form, greeting us on our heavenward return.