Or words spoken,

Not level, or ruled over.

No longer tied to the tongue.

But words none the less, wise

Works, not of greatness,

Or of tangled intrigue,

Or of The Mabinogi.

The red and the white.

The saved quad of eleven.

For herein

There a souls,

Where Three is held high,

Not in logic, but in a serious embrace.

It is nothing of magic.

On this abacus of fate

By calculation, there is more to life than the mere

Meeting of the eye.

Charged by friction

We a drawn to our centre

Like ice raining from space

Down to the clouds of Saturn

And below.

C2019. Christopher Thompson.

2 thoughts on “Tell

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.