Startled and smitten by the sheer beauty of the moment,
I completely missed the true import of what was taking place.
Seems my whole life has been spent in some vain attempt,
To curry favor with my own soul.
Given a gift from birth, told to take up my pen and write,
But it only raises more questions I cannot hope to answer.
One day, they have told us,
All will be made clear.
But the same ones who make such claims,
Wear lenses painted ebony and red.
Someday we will all be transformed into purest light,
And reabsorbed into the final shards of fading sunset.
For now we wait
For now we sit quietly
And we make our plans.
Copyright 2016 by Andrew Bradford. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.