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What’s permanent

“Even the soul of the wicked is a part of God Himself, a part that will conquer and extinguish even hell-fire forever.”
    ~ Hans Christian Andersen, “A Story” (1851)

What a funny world this would be
If someone up there would just tell you where to look
As you keep coming ‘round again to where you’ve been
To find it so rearranged
You can’t help but have gotten from A to B
Never recognizing it’s really the same place
Hard as you peer with the finest instruments back toward the spark
That started it all to yet burst
With energy dark as a dimension not visible
To you who live and breathe and are made
Of just the surface
Of what
Matter is a few paltry billion years
A million billion times more than these
Could pass in less than an eyeblink of a young girl
Who long after the stars shining upon your face have gone dark
Observes the last essence decay
Ephemeral as the tension unifying all you know
From the Great Wall to dispersing nebulas
From the finest instruments to dust
From the governments’ closest guarded secrets to the sound
Of your mother’s voice while you were yet unborn
And if you yet could be
The sister to whom next time this holiday occasion
Comes ‘round again
Once she combs out the higher dimensional tangles of hair
That’ll still be hard to grasp at your infantile age
And pulls on her dress colored like you’d never have imagined
She might just tell you as she lights another firework
“Look at all the pretty sparks!”

    August 2014

Thanks always returns

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