That blinding iridescence
of unfolding intellect,
and knowledges, unbounded;
imagination left unchecked.
Until that final trumpet-blow
to quell the battlefield,
I’ll march beside the drummer boy
without a thing to wield.
Can you beat dawn to sunrise
as the newest day unfurls?
When light overflows the hillsides;
of diamonds and of pearls.
Shelved amongst the readings
of prophecies, untold
to those who asked for nothing, but
awareness of the world.
No comments:
Post a Comment