The kingdom divinely promised,
centuries before my conception,
for twenty-two years, appeared
only as a shadow invitation–
bewitching, through smoke walls
and silken mirrors.

Ropes of gold led the way
loosely fashioned about my wrists.
Threads of knowledge, taste, and experience–
each spun for the purity
of its own vital fabric.

Churning emotions arouse
internal tides, awash
with yearning.

The wonders I have seen,
and unearthly pleasures tasted
weigh heavily on my soul,
the soul of the seeker.

So said, perpetually in flight
until she dips her soul in Paradise.
Coated with trembling ecstasy
in the least expected of days
a land of treasures,
a man of pleasures.

Oh, the magnanimous announcement,
generally reserved for chartered ears.

Here, now erect, it portrays us.
It betrays us. It’s the continents again.

We are battered
but ultimately unshaken
by the chattering of the masses.
Unafraid to forage twisted foliage.

That winding verbosity of
two strands that lay together
awaiting cerebral rejection
but instead finding spiritual unification.
If the latter is to be,
our two life forces will fold into each other.

Becoming twisted
the tango of soul.


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