Children of the Earth

The garden in the sunshine hid the elements of creation,

As the shadows in our body begged for useless speculation;

To find the touchstone that the lantern ghost had hidden in our eye;

To reveal the planless space of how the moon had drifted from the sky.

The endeavour to be freed from notions in our brain,

Had left us most untouched by streams of time upon the planes,

Where the eventual winter washes us in frosted rain,

And the unborn lamp is dyed until the earth is whole again.

As auburn leaves displayed upon the ground,

Circulates within the body to explore the faces that we found,

Until divisions drift into the purest well,

And mountain tales pour rain into our painful swell.

Songbirds sing of signless lands, where only the enlightened dead may cross,

To figure out the truth at hand, that purity is held in judgement’s loss.

The keys onto the kingdom are held within the bleeding heart,

That helps the limping man ascend the stairs,

And washes in the well his might, to be correctly standing there.

The father tells his sons of the burden that he bears,

To arise in absolute forgiveness of the confusion that we wear.

Until we peel away our faces and fall into the centre,

And find within ourselves the being of our mentor.

I cannot stretch my mouth but to explain,

How the heavens dripped their hollow rain,

And the light extinguishes again,

The progress that we made.

But the scripture that is crumpled in our shock,

As the masses ate our body,

Have revived in absolute forgiveness our luck,

To conceive another story.