Where Angels Go To Die
This place,
this infinitely finite place,
where branches split the clouds
when they spin;
this place,
where the sky is studded with crystals
of dreams;
this place,
where the white melts the blue
and the cold melts the flowers,
where
among roses
a child runs
arms wide open
towards God...
This place,
where God is not what He is,
this place,
a replica of chaos,
the underworld of angels,
the mist of the Heavens
concealed by apparent
fulfillment.
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