AzeltirWrite - Ben Finkel's Poetry, Essays, and General Nonsense

Friday, March 30, 2007

Light

Criss-crossed grids of ethereal gravities
Spawn the flaming souls,
Marbles against the catacombs
Bouncing around the holes.

They grope at instantanaety,
Shunting all aside
Their primal purpose of everywhere
In the medium which they ride.

Ben Finkel
March 30th, 207
by Azeltir at 10:20 AM

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