03-30-2017, 09:30 PM
Reading this poem is like thornily picking at a bony problem that I refuse to acknowledge.
It makes me feel old and in need of an orthopedist to reset my conquested Ilium.
But here I am again, typing to imagine instead of speaking to my cat.
Beautiful poem.
[i]
The idols of the nations are silver and gold, the work of human hands.
They have mouths, but do not speak; they have eyes, but do not see;
they have ears, but do not hear, nor is there any breath in their mouths.
Those who make them become like them, so do all who trust in them.
- Psalm 135:15-18
It makes me feel old and in need of an orthopedist to reset my conquested Ilium.
But here I am again, typing to imagine instead of speaking to my cat.
Beautiful poem.
[i]
The idols of the nations are silver and gold, the work of human hands.
They have mouths, but do not speak; they have eyes, but do not see;
they have ears, but do not hear, nor is there any breath in their mouths.
Those who make them become like them, so do all who trust in them.
- Psalm 135:15-18
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions