These hands that raised me
Are old and imperfect
Much like the flaws in the wood
Of many a mighty tree
In its branches high
Or on shoulders broad
With eye of buoyant adolescence
I could see the root of me
And when I laid bare
With promise of bloom
My Father with rake and heap
Stood ready at the cultivation
As I age in his wisdom
I look to the arbor
And drift under its cover
Proud in its agnation
Categories:
agnation, father son,
Form: I do not know?
Out of the Box
In symmetrical symmetries lies the cradle of creation
For we are the residual residue of ancient agnation
As we look through the looking geometrical glass
We see the pinnacle primeval majestic mass
Of vastness vibrations in reality illusions
The Golden Mean of symmetry’s solutions
All is revealed in the cosmic cube of Metatron
Matriarchal manifestations of the dimensional dawn
Spiritual spiral strings of Sacred Geometry
All things equal in the synchronized symphony
Like a jumping Jack inside the bilateral box
We take a peak when Heaven kindly knocks.
Updated...
Dec.28.2016
Out of the Box - Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Categories:
agnation, identity, spiritual,
Form: Rhyme