Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Fingers Of God



Flee,
Take flight,
Fly,
It won't kill you!
To feel,
To know,
Sits and sings,
Each item,
Consists of a view,
From inside the,
Cockpit.

Fond of the feast,
Thy lyre,
And the dance,
Now gathered around me,
A state of supreme happiness,
Age of Reason,
That I craved from the,
Fount of knowledge,
By involution and evolution,
Or squared and cubed.

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