Transcendental Harmonies

we shiver under quiet depths

with hues of azure and iron

some yellowed silence
and an infant, a demeaning death

where we had fallen into a

wandering earth, or hell

so far gone,

in a scarred atmosphere/unknown

but yet, a protection.

some gliding movement

of towers,

two by two,

and softest fabric, spun between our fingers,

as the cradle of a child

loses its balance and vanishes,

so we are left to flicker into non-existence,

or-- total existence,

whichever is more fitting

to our deep, deep selfishly inclusive souls.

forgive us of our innate curiosities,

of a joyous monument,

of a forest, annotated-

and even as the harp's strings

melt into glass,

our hands play on;

a tortuous morning

to a greatest age.