We rise and rise again for Our Mother calls Us home to Her ethereal throne Even wanderers know for Her We glow We put up the ever-lasting show We rise not to touch the skies not to bury the lies not to suffocate the highs We rise in song to help each other along to be strong to carry the throng ...of change ...of momentum needed to rearrange the bitterly strange We rise giving praise to the skies trumpeting Our immortal sighs In glory, grace and gratitude We humbly spin this wheel clockwise X 03/05/2024 “What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis pluck'd.” William Shakespeare
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
by Exe
A collection of thoughts both old and new. Archives
September 2024
Categories |