What’s my name?
That which I’m known as no longer holds Me.
The length of my arm reaches into The Sea,
The rivers and trickles have filled it to here,
But the sources are blurry and frosted with
When something is seen, it can no longer hide.
When something is realized, it cannot be denied.
When something is both— and still it survives—
What does it mean to the Organ inside?
The trail of Her leads us all forward through night.
The scent of Her guides Me to darkness so bright.
How did I come to this planet with sight
To perceive all these Aeons losing the Fight…
Lloyd Matthew Thompson
12.20.2011 — 04:57pm