This body therein

This body therein rests solemn – a creation.

And creation itself an instrument

Madly oscillating as sensation

Gently swaying – a vibration

And herein rests my flesh enchanted,

Not sanctioned by the crows of a vengeful spirit pooling

In the depths

Not tainted by the woes of a fragment left behind.


Herein rests my flesh encumbered,

By frameworks of structures wide and wise 

An herein rests my pulse,

Beating with the tide

There gated and blooming with the flowing of the Nile.

Therein we see the serpent by flowing river’s line

Sucking in at the sides 

Pulling in from the great divide

Those fine water droplets that glitter in our eyes.

Where creation is an instrument

And life itself a prize. 


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