Chants from other side of the Moon #3

A serene Sky reveals nothing of
what is, it only knows what was
and what shall come

Of Earth though, is a holier, noble
faith, for Earth’s beauty is in experience
of blossom, and that which blossom requires
hands from which to inspire through

In hands sleeps the fate of Man,
awakened in streams of rivers
through which Man lives

But not all man are hawks, for
hawk is being of intense light,
it lives blood, dirt and Sun’s high,
its body is gift to eternal gods of slump-rags,
its soul remains fire that forever shall be

Empty slavery of sand remains
that which enslaves the Ever-being,
for its almost immovable, heavy from
sadness

In its dream, the crown of petals, all
Men are born to become hawks

But Being is born of light unbearable
for some Men

Long are those hours in which
Man can only stand silently, as
the already distanced revival becomes
close to shining all things share when
they drown, from being alive to being a
husk, Man must bear unfaltering rivers

Man can be born anew through hands,
as longs as he chants from other side
of the Moon

Namaste,

Michael of Moon

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