Sound!
Beaten,hammered,strung,
From tempered bodies and strings.
Begetting from the heart an out flow,
Growing to a flood.
Exciting the limbs,
Ecstatic inwardly,
Sober outwardly.
The vocal chords of mystics singing,
Words of a union,
Words of compassion.
I love, you love,thee is loved,
In the circle of the elite.
Its not a whim,
Its not a vain sensation.
It is what illuminates the heart.
It is what turns this organ between breasts,
To submission, to service,
To sacrifice.
Until you have ran to stand still,
Until you are static,
Until when only this turning organ turns in a still body,
You are not one with the love,
Consumed awhole.
This organ which turns,
Is what man could not create.
Man cannot forge it to existence.
The world has known nothing like it.
The world has not fully grasped anything like it.
It has held heavy things that have shaped the world.
Made greatness known,
Made its source known.
Man has not been given anything great,
To be the pinnacle of creation,
To gain great perceptions,
But the HeART.
YOU ARE READING
Otherness(Poetry Book)
PoetryThis book is about the Otherness and its roots and origins and its current matters at hand and the truths, about it, And all only brings us to God and to the highest knowledge about our selves.
