No End of Poetry

The knowing of the Three is enough to braid any rhyme or meter ,

cohesive.

Their tough bonded cord tightened toward the light of day

pulls us away from futility

with a towline of agility.

We bend straight.

Forced with line or weight,trees.

our stretch is clean...

or not.

Lack of subtility means forgetfulness.

Our best face forward is shrouded nobility,

when

our limited personal identity is dispersed,disposed,deleted.

We are becoming.

Who are we?

YOU...YOU...YOU...

amen. Let it be as you have said.

SATISFACTION GARANTEED

WHEN OUR MEMORY OF ETERNITY IS FREED.