The Verse of Being.

There were four children
who wove the wicker of fire
that colors every blade of grass,
every eye that is.

One covered the sky,
in her disappearance she
sparked secrets that swirled
in her silent cauldron

And the other, took the form
of sea foam, she came and went
playfully sprinkling precious salt,
sea shells her flirty tokens

The young one, swiveled under the mounds, 
worming his way up from the enclosure
and bursting forth in the sun, open pink mouths
screeching heart strings

And the eldest, sees all
she rushes through the tiniest cracks
into the warm underbelly of all living
and whistles all things..

They were named
Mystery, Muse, Soul and Voice.






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