Nursery Song

 
 
 
Scooping up the cornucopia of pleasure
gently nestled in moonbeams.
At peace in a lullaby
easily descending.
Abruptly caught, brought out to
tangled plane of lights and pain.
Too bright, abrasive, cacophonous
to embrace whole.
Wisp, delicate whispers shhh, embers.
Coalesce of nebulous tones, impressed imagery,
threshold epiphanies
drift, apparent astral bits, amphibious bits.
Hypnotic meme streams,
world stories sharing harmonic tongue,
clearly fantastic grammar,
that we may escape our anxious, fractured
turbulence.
A chorus of soothing nursery song.
We are legacy of heroes.
Laughter of the Almighty
among giggling angels,
here we are home.
Sweet hearth, splintered home.
Out here we learn to serve,
give piously abased homage
to the giants, slingers of arrows
that could rend us
bit by bloody bit.
No wonder we sing louder,
dance jerkily on starched,
bleached strings.
Wouldn’t we agree to anything
that we be allowed
to sleep
just a few aeons more.
.
.
.
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