It is I, with my sourceless laments
Codifying, rather ambiguous intent
Attempting to reach, beauty, ground
By a senseless mind, wrecked and earthbound..
Why can I not touch the face, of God
Bring its light into perspective, roughshod
Tear away curtains, straight, into play's end
Dance gloriously to sounds, yet unsent...
Yes, It is I, swimming waves of fragrance
Without olfactory make-up, or sense
Can I glean any truth, without time
Perhaps a pregnant portal, from which I might shine...
Like wire and light-filled automatons
We see beauty, but miss the phenomenon
I search my heart, to find forgotten regrets
The sun rises,
The sun sets,
* a work in progress