Fragments of broken glass

            this room’s dimensional windows

a stone’s throw away, living on the edge too long.

                                                            Silence dances in darkness

through an altered state.

voices, a regimented life!

            Toy soldiers living not in dreams

but regimes.

                                                            I stand, inhaling plumes

amid cumulous vapors

            an air sifting desert’s room

where vultures gather – nearby soon

                                                            waiting for their fleshly noon.

Iambic soul prints rise

            sunlit morn

beaded sweat – literary forms, I think

                                                            and, I write into the nights

a soul of exile waits for

            mountains moved of Sinai’s bliss

a holy kiss,

                                                            t-h-i-s was all it took.

Esteem bleeds its way back

            into the form of type – face print

and, I thirst!

                                                            No longer hungry for the world

as shady turns,

            and dusty paths

survive – the thermal nuclei imprints

                                                            and spiritual genes, a complex DNA

unravel the mysteries

            upon the annihilation of exiled souls

finding peace, in a war torn-world                                                             in the person of Savior.

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