They say you are above me,
That I am below.
There was a fall,
And my entire kind did drop.
They say the stars are famous,
The Southern Cross,
Orion, the Warrior- kind of the night sky.
And the superstars,
Blackness in the skies.
The heavens are above me,
The territory of The All Mighty,
The Divine Might,
Beyond every human sight,
Far more famous,
Than pathos skies,
And stars, human might,
From our Babylons and Babels and our beginning pathos heights!
As we look to Origin,
In which we subsist,
Upon the Will of Heavenly Might,
That drops From Heavenly Heights,
As Might is Now Actual,
And Actual Is Never by Yahweh past, spent!
Thought all us are soon enough spent,
Long since fallen dropped-eds.
Fallen, ever climbing,
Is this the state of Man?
Of My Kind,
Fallen from the heights of Heaven,
Of what is not!
And yet, the night breeze, I sensed, it became a hurricane in the morning, my dream, in it as though truth itself, is to know that night breeze, as though in romance- to romance the mystery of the hidden truth. For I love the night breeze, which so few yet can sense.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Posted by Marc Evan Aupiais at 9:41 AM
Dad; Husband; Christian (Catholic); Irish. — News; Business; History; Civilizations; The Western World; Speech; Culture; Law. (Pronounced: Aw-Pea-Air.)
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