a mystic queen of clouds
stirring her golden mixing ***.
arms reaching up in crowds,
heads and legs getting caught.
she fully douses the creatures
in the prismatic solutions,
giving them distinct features
and eccentric attributions.
one by one they climb the ladle,
making neat rows of eight
up on the big smokey table.
her tiny whispers seal their fate.
making hexes, casting spells.
her eyes satisfied yet sharp.
off you go! she gracefully yells
as her novice sounds the harp.
wings of glass burst out their backs.
the creatures scared of its source
yet they mindlessly grab an axe
their monarch has her faithful force.

No great story ever started with darkness?
Do you not know the greatest story ever told started with darkness?


Once upon a time,
Darkness plagued the land—
A great, powerful, grave darkness.
Darker than anything, man knows.
And how could he,
For man never lived in that darkness;
It was before time itself,
For there was no sun,
There was no moon,
And no stars, or plants.
There was only separation
Of the darkness and the Light.
And great was their separation,
As great chasms divide us from one another
So there was between the darkness and the Light,
But at this time darkness was known by a different name,
For it was not but the absence of light
But the absence of all that is good and holy.
It was called chaos,
For apart from the Light,
No good could be found.
And so it was,
And it was good.

Until the angels fell with thunderous rejection
Cast down from the Light,
For their hearts were filled with chaos
And hardened to fit their form.
So their hearts were set against the nature of the Light;
Their chaos was filled with murderous intent,
Hatred of their faithful kin,
And displeasure in the good nature of the Light.
And he who led them had great envy,
Desiring that the light would be his.
Plotting for glory and power
To be placed in his unfit fist,
For once he carried the Light true and pure,
But now his chaos made him unfit,
For it would disgrace the Light
And inflict wrath upon him.
For no chaos could touch the Light
Without severance of chaos,
And bound to body and mind was their chaos.
So the prince of chaos plotted for his own glory
Yet brought wrath upon him and his followers,
Mistaking what he once held to be his.

And it is this darkness that blinds us so.
Making us selfish,
Mistaking what we held, to be our own bit of light,
For only what is holy may hold light.
We, man, are nothing more than the spawn of the Light.
Who, like the accusor and his kin, chose chaos
So that we may do anything our heart desires.
And the Light, being gracious and true
Did not sever us from the light
But granted us audience through the Sacrifice
That we may reflect the Light
As we did on the day of our birth.

And in this life, we:
Live, we regret, we learn –
Lessons from regret

And for bodies, we are:
Skins, touch, ecstasies in –
Two hearts that touch

Finally, we are all to:
Love, give breath, have *** –
To expect, another breath

              We all create.

God fears no man – creator of existence, in the composition that
spoke life and oxygen to all you creatures. Some pray their prayers
as Christian, few times aloud as a victim – walking on surface of
earth, we crowd it with pollution for the nectar of wealth, spreading
seeds for what is made from personal growth – the birds and the
bees.

Pollinating the stigma to our young, that they have all the time to
be dumb. Hatching all of your fears to your son you call chum;
fishing the picture of plenty fish in the sea – did you at least
teach him how to swim. Figuratively!

Though quite literally; the bait of addiction is the idea that everyone
does it as a passage of growth. The world finds success in us
following a uniform message, their wickedness to clothe…

Us, against the world, though parts of the world believe they’re
greater than God.

In the beginning was the worm, and the worm was with a clod. And the worm was Claude. He was with a clod in the beginning, and through them all things were made. Without the worms and the germs and the clods of dirt, nothing was made that is now of this earth.

The dirt was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the heap. And Claude was hungering over the mud and the mire.

And Claude said, “Let there be bite”; and then he took a bite. And seeing that it was good, he took another bite. And from the soil he divided the clay. And from the clay, he divided the nitrogen. So that was the first clay.

Then Claude looked up at the clouds and down at the clods. And when Claude separated the clods from the clouds, he could see the heavens and the earth. And he saw that this was good.

Then with the next clay, Claude created the mounds and the knolls. Then he called on the dirt and the soil to bring forth the grass, the herbs, and every tree and fruit.

“Blessed are the seeds,” he said, “for the seeds shall inhabit the dirt.” And in due season, they would inhabit every heath and hillock.

Then Claude planted a garden. That garden would flourish with every tree that was good for food, and Claude saw that it was good. But not every tree was meant for eating.

Inside and outside of the garden, Claude crept. And in due season the garden was inhabited by humans, including but not necessarily limited to, both man and woman. And Claude wondered whether they were good.

Man and woman ate freely from the garden, but many plates were left unfinished. Many articles were cast out of the garden. There were leftovers and there were forbidden fruits. There were residues and there were residuals, and Claude saw that they were all good. And so the worm dwelt among the garbage of eaten.

It was a golden age for nematodes. All things were fruitful and all things multiplied. It was a time to be born and a time to plant. To everything there was a seasoning, and thyme for every purpose.

Whatever could be seasoned was rendered with seasoning. And what needed no seasoning was rendered unto Claude. And what Claude had joined together, no man or woman could tear asunder.

Then one day, Claude found himself in the valley of the shadow. Man and woman had stacked brick upon brick, building a tower whose top might reach the heavens. Until once again, darkness was on the face of the sheep.

Claude opposed their pride, but man and woman had sacrificed their only true sun and the light of the world. In the darkness, the flowers wilted, the vines withered, and the gourds worked in mysterious ways.

Forced to choose between the tree of life and the root of evil, every man woman and child decided for themselves. Even with twenty pieces of silverware, no man could serve two platters.

The sun came up and the sun went down. The cycle repeated but the lightbulbs would not be diminished and the darkness would not be mollified. Some travelled west and some travelled east. Some put down roots and others were uprooted. Some encountered generosity while others met with animosity. Some saved their clods and others paved over them. And for many generations, Claude was nowhere to be seen.

Then from the mist, a soft voice echoed. Those with the ears of corn could hear it, and those with the eyes of potatoes could see it. Until the cornucopia runneth over, with thanks and praises to the water and the sun and the whole compost.

Lettuce pray.