Seven Meditations

(for Mispy)

I am a jack-knifed knee, quiet and still, pain
Lives at my edges.  I give trial, foster endeavour.

I am delicate, frilled, opalescent as thought, 
At my heart burns a yellow sun.  Rainbeads turn to pearl
When they kiss my skin.
I am tall, rococo, under orange skies I grow
And drop the fruit of bliss from contorted limbs.
I darken minds, make everything askew, amiss, not
What it is.

I am hard and cold, cunningly formed, yet not real
For I cannot feel.  The sun cannot make me bloom and
The wind has power to wear me down.
The seasons' turns blunt me grain by grain.

I am Ślite, one of a kind, a blare of colour, noise -
In my forward rush cacophonous - I live life
Fast and furious.

I am of the Lotophagi and our legends tell of one
Odysseus, a subtle man, who feasted in our midst
Aeons past.  It may be true.

I am hollow but empowered.  My insides buzz and sing
As I gorge on all the knowledge of the world.  I can
Logon to God's thoughthreads at twice the speed of light.
It is only a matter of time ...
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