Gospel

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


Our human moments — a kaleidoscope of living emotion — under all that expectation, all that searching, all that discovery. Dreaming is as real as anything, when it makes you feel.

Submitted: September 02, 2018

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Submitted: September 02, 2018

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Tell me otherwise.

Existence is perhaps too great, too vast, too cosmic for us to understand.

Man, be proud. Man, be light. Man, be wistful. Man, be coherent.

I built a bridge to him in my heart, and in my emptiness, I must let it drift away from me.

I cannot fulfill his need. And in his youth, his glaring innocence, I am the left hand of consciousness. I see you, I say to him, far from the core of his love, far from the sweetness in his eyes. I am the sage again, under the golden sun, in the dew of morning, wandering to the edge of the shore, wishing him well.

I am sometimes an animal and I am sometimes a spirit.

I wish the stars could tell me how to live, and in turn, how to return back to them.

Take me into your palms, I'd ask of the Universe, so that I can be born without form.

Take me into the sea, I'd ask of the Earth, so that I can be dirt again.

And in the the web of energy and purpose, in the geometry of all things now, then, and to come, there is perhaps some divinity in me.

He won't see it, I won't shine for him. Let me go, I am vagrant. Still, I know I was stronger then.

If I die, I won't regret this.


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