All march forth to find the place
where the Earth gives up her secrets
Then with bare hands they dig in to the soft clay
Exposed secrets written in coded tongue
spell out the fate of those who dig
in letters they will never learn to read
Even if the prayer were written in the clouds
their blind eyes would gaze skyward
and preach to the masses of what they saw
witnesses to the grandest secret of them all
written in the spaces between fading stars
that writhe in the haze of an atmosphere
slowly choking away all hope of escape
even as desire grounds the worthy to a place of rest
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Strange thing to point out, perhaps, but today’s photo is the first that I’ve used on this blog from a photographer whose name begins with the letter ‘Q’. Thank you Quino Al!
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