Oh ferocious angels, lionesque children of Eden on narrow streets and polluted alleyways whispering cruel things to each other, you're radiant in your belligerence and as my enemies you are virtuous. Beside me in this carpeted rectangle room a faint glow exhales from the tall alpine ivory lamp illuminating firefly wings of blossoms alluringly exuberant in the afternoon sun-ray diamond shine and shimmer. Dusty tin roofs billow firewood smoke in the thick violet shade fog over-top cabin potted mountains and hills sprouting firs and rose bushes abounding. Spectrum cast chandeliers echo staircases which jot up and up arduous ruby landings, hardwood floor cracked and stacks of novels ballast the senescent hallways of bookshops where poets works and journals diaries and memoirs blur the serpentine walls with memories. Angelic the soul which is too often contaminated with avarice rebellious to concord living harmonious midst dew grass and calm waters in residential lakes empathy equanimity, far from Bodhisattva. Few kinds of darkness transcendental subduing other darkness to a weak shadow. There's an importance to admiring the delirium of metropolitan roads on roads this intricate unspoken connection to those who rest by stoplights and crawling traffic metallic molten aura of cars in July heat. Paying attention to the open window of adjacent apartments where Mr. Norris waters his tulips and shares this moment modern meditations practiced finding a balance in such an anxious volatile world like this. Oh ferocious angels, impetuous forlorn seraphs, sing! sing and soar! Boundless is our ardor and our passion. Unenclosed is the lion in it's bloom.