Patterns of Play
No more to decline the escape from treachery that had no bounds,
no bounds to destroy, no line to cross the boarders spiraling above,
emptied of all but the blotted remembrances of the past.
Sailing unencumbered through the eternal sky on magenta feathers.
Patterns of play course through the veins and red streams of life arise to carry the call of Creation.
A dream made real in the heart of expression. A dream made real in the space of a thought.
A dream made real in a vibratory force, carved in the bedrock of intention.
Where the architects of destiny, toiling ever within, build the fortresses of forgetting.
A tower of reality fatefully condoned, a crown of stones dissolving into the sea below.
A river of lightning pores out of a white sun raining out in six days of Creation.
Eroding a mountain of ice where our ancestors would hunt for stars.
From worlds into pebbles and pebbles to worlds again before sleeping.
Nothing, would forever be undone in the entropy of the fallen,
forever chasing the immortal, spinning recklessly through time.
The All would seamlessly collide in the dance of decay and rebirth,
but not one ripple would ever disturb the crystal mirror of timelessness
and we will forever see each other in perfect clarity. ~ Asa
