Be-gotten

‘Why should I spare your life’;

The sphinx smirked.

Less a question and more a play-like paw strike,

Against the yarn about to unravel.

“I am Him, Born in the Son.”

The creation of the creator.

Perplexion plagues the stoic mask as she snarls

‘We were all Born in the Sun, fool.’

(With whispers was confusion begotten.)

“You mistake cause with intent,

For I am It-That-Flows-Through,

And you are not made to be asking questions of me.”

The cool moonlight flickers;

There-and-back-again.

Leaving the steely sky as a backdrop against nothing,

The silhouette of him fuzzing from memory.

 

Finally,
It burst forth,
The seed that seeks Sharuum,
Asking:
‘Who is Me?’

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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 )

w

Connecting to %s