i.
Tis, she is
That lost artwork that hangeth on display;
In the supernal supernatural museum of the creator's stage.
ii.
Tis, she is
That lost sculpture mankind hath overlooked;
In the hall of cherub's and serpahim book's.
iii.
Tis, she is I
As I am her, we art not separate, we art fused together;
From a otherworldly dimensional world.
iv.
Tis, we art from the palace
Filled with the water of life, in a flowing chalice;
None ill-will nor malice, just a palisade of intimacy.
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
i.
Tis, she is
That lost artwork that hangeth on display;
In the supernal supernatural museum of the creator's stage.
ii.
Tis, she is
That lost sculpture mankind hath overlooked;
In the hall of cherub's and serpahim book's.
iii.
Tis, she is I
As I am her, we art not separate, we art fused together;
From a otherworldly dimensional world.
iv.
Tis, we art from the palace
Filled with the water of life, in a flowing chalice;
None ill-will nor malice, just a palisade of intimacy.
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
