Aerial: Of The Air

Being of the Z and the air,

we are considered to be Aerial.

No not cold space black

Or bible black

Or bible cold.

We are, all of us

Aerial Light

Like a Prairie or African Sky.

We are children of the Sun

And the Salt

And the Breeze,

Especially the breeze.

Each is of us is Aerial Light.

Aerial of snow and shoes,

Light as feet on a beach.

We leave for only a short while

Our Sandman land markings.

Then tomorrow they are gone?

Oh how we bend through time.

Some of us, the ones considered

The wordsmiths,

Will never be purged of

“The Son of the Sea”,

The Dylan within us.

For our accomplice

In these matters,

These matters of fact words,

Is Not Just our Soul.

The gangle tide of confidence

Which is the sign of youth,

Is a regeneration of optimism.

It is manifest

As in corporeal

And saintly spiritual activities

Of the young.

Were and are we not all mystically

And justifiably counted among the saints?

We are aimed to be consumed at.

In so being we express life

And therefore are alive to the world.

We draw life unto ourselves.

Being of good cause

We are sentenced to the caress

Of The Spirit, albeit,

Without the Bliss of the mind.

We do not conjure our facts

Or juggle with words.

We remain cold and space black

Bible black and cold,

Because we converse in a language

For and in which

We were never trained.

(C) 2018 Christopher Thompson

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