THE SOFT-SILKED SOULS

The weary seams of soft-silk souls
seem too loosened to visit my world
but they do.  And often by haunts,
their dreams become my own;  as
a sin unowned; rarely my feet walk
within God’s garden silently.

The uninvited adore my skin
and breathe especially at night.
As many intervals between life
and There, so too my awareness
of Them, those who with ghostly
sculptor-hands, turn heads
and minds too. It’s my words,
my word, too, They built the
bridge across which I now go
while I sleep reading the
dark book of the Beginning.

:: 01-22-2015 ::

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

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