In Dark of Heaven
Oct 21, 2020
Felt as dearly as clutched suits,
Hemmed to perfection by toothy mules.
They object, for they are brutes,
They know only of brutes.
And of brutes are they,
In Dark of Heaven.
Light woven onto dreams and seams,
Washes, Tides, Waves…
It beckons, and ruthlessly gleams,
Sundering stories from themes.
Things that shine ought not be stories,
But eyes cannot see that but that which light touches.
Better to have felt it blustering,
In Dark of Heaven.
