John Gregory Evans © 2020

Jeramiah, the fire within

comets the skies of angels, and

the interior realms where within –

God resides.

Monastery of the Angels,

Greek Orthodox never loved so High.

Like anthropology, I believe!

Sixty miles out, the coolness of air, and of deep breaths,

My unexpected and pleasing friend

from the fires of love, a living being

never exonerated except through death,

my, the world of men so vile.

A Patriarchal scheme, I’d say, the filth

of false truths, and of whole lies.

The chapel floor shines from tears of

Our Mother, O mine!

The Holy One is in pursuit

for his Beloved child’s restitute,

the very one he has risen

to the Throne of Holies.

I think in cities of concrete and steel

there remain men who abhor

all living things, except themselves.

Life goes beyond graves of holy men.

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