Sunday, September 28, 1997

The Fifth Level

a host of holy watchers, a welcoming brigade
marked on the palm, ancient of days
witnessing, integrating dimensions, revealing
from the safe opened place set aside, some twilight zone, a mikdash
a first portion, generation to generation, shaking off the dust
awed, standing side by side with a thousand thousand pure eyes
beholding like breath the silent shout that splits the skies
from a vision of the night, a victory force marches to the sound
of beetles dancing to a judging song of the endless
coming to collect on a contract with the living dead, asleep in sleep
unguarded, unimpressed, falsely secure in the valley of megiddo
while pharaoh's arrows snap into holographic pieces
against two fires rocking to the rhythm of one eternal flame
casting shadows neither dark nor light
like footprints from the timeless time to come
penetrating the paradox truly true
leshalom veshalom

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