From the hand of god
To the breath of man;
Four parts a twine
The inner strands
That twist the weave
And bend time to life.
To round the loom
With subtle spin
Deflects, reflects, the passing blow
And turns to par
A simple man
A listless end.
Unto the nexus that he trust.
Unto the favor, rhythm, and creed.
What god he made if his apparition
Shall span the eons to his confines.
To string himself undone
Remade by fabric not touched by man
And cast himself
Ourselves
Beaneath it's deapths
To breath the air
That angels stole.
To rest our heads
Down pon our knees
And ponder ways
To pass eternity.
For the glimmer of god
Had lost its sheen.
For his golden arc
Has past my gaze
Before and again
And shown it's guise
In every shade.
For surely the glimmer of god
Has lost it's shine.
