Upon the blue stillness lies the immensity of
all seen and unseen,
all wished and non-wished,
all glorified and all condemned.
Somewhere in the distance a wind chime softens the silence,
calling upon a new soliloquy of transcendence.
The sheet torn in the temple has
settled on dirt floors – created and creating still;
pondering its future and its own mortality.
Crushed under the weight of a thousand triumphant proclamations
sits the lonesome cooing which expresses only gratitude and love.
Fire settles on the mountain,
all are beckoned to the wonders pierced
in both eye and soul.
Not, shall they sing of want or need, but instead proclaim
thanks for their treasured captivity.
Collecting dewy fortitude gives
balance again to splendor past
and riches yet to manifest. All is well.