hallowed, be Thy Name

 

 

Butterfly,  in Her Box of Rain

 

­

 

yes

 There,

Her Majesty,

A Swan of Repose,

as Always,  sitting,  under

 The Wisdom Tree,  playing,  as

soft as Whispers,  The Lyre of Truth,

and as She sways,  Still and On,  moving,

as The Music surrounds Her as liquid,  until

All Her Memories fade into One,  and One is

for Ever,  Again,  and,  There,  in This Place

shared with Hope’s Wish lys Her Haven,

in A Corridor of Her Heart,  where

She embraces His Fire,  and

His Passion,  and

His Glory,

and

 

 

 

 

for

Each Day,

of Infinity’s Reign,

for Every Moment,  She

is held,  Captive,  in Her Well

of Longing,  floating,  on Her Sea of

Innocence,  drifting,  drowning,  dying in

The Sum of All Tears . . . and in The Quick

of A Wink,  and in The Hush of A Promise, 

Her Box,  high on The Mantle of Fortitude,

begins to quiver,  as if to crack from The

Burden of Time,  when,  All at Once,

from Inside,  A Light The Color

of Cyan Skies,  and,  The

Color of The Light,

was Ever’s

      Eyes . . .

 

 

 

 

from Book III,  The Diamond ( Third Beginning ) The Sixth DoveTail – The Trials of Ecstasy

 

 

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