Heavenly Refinement

[Mopkins]

neato title - everything is in an alchemical process
I

The sky split that day
when He reached down
and gently took her up.

(neato - sure it'll be the earth that splits and the other bloke for me)

All that was left
was stiff and lanky, an empty shell
for others to manage.

(mmm... little unsure what to visualise here - maybe a cone type shell, but that's add odd shape for a person - got me thinking about cicada skins or maybe a mantis - if they did that -lanky for me implies legs that bend at the knee and stride along, i thought perhaps 'brittle/cemented/starched?")

My mind went adriftin', (punct adriftin' does it need an apostrophe or hyphen)
even though I knew
she's now better-than-ever:

an Irish girl, old from the smoke
with grayish, green, sea-glass eyes, (greyish)
muted and smooth,
(agreeable mmms gggs ssses)

now she's twinklin' her shiniest
burst o' life, peridot marbles;
(had to stop and think whether it was her life or her eyes that sparkled)

none of us can see them, not here in this arena
where we start out strong and end up weak,
always sweaty-wrestlin' Light vs. dark.
(wot, poor old dark doesn't get a capital)

Her tangled tiara of thick grey fuzz hasn't room
for even a memory in that residence of Light,
where everything stays fresh
and crowns earned will be happily thrown:

(noice)

no sin, rust, or moths can gobble anything up;
there's no fear, no trippin' on rugs, no broken hips,

today she's springin' a jig, crystal River Dancin', bouncin'
curly locks whose energies gleam brighter
than the smiles of hungry villagers watchin'
wagons heap in golden wheat.


Her wrinkles melted away, warm honey, boastin'
cheek's freckles, she once hated,
now win grandest pageants
against the glitterin' shimmers of angels' faces.

(grandest pageants is a little odd)
II


I got reeled in last night with a special gaffe.
Pulled from my wanderin' afar on a Melville raft,
"Better to sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian".
It made me laugh, then reminded me, I am neither.

(neato)

I wonder sometimes
when God reaches down
His Shepherd's stick,
(stick may be better as crook)

what does His staff look like to Him?
Does it sparkle like snow,
gently shoot warm points of Light
that it might gently nudge us in love?

(nah you're almost smothered in his hand and warm to the core and all his bliss had seeped in)

My Heavenly Father, He fluffed
all my pillows last night, tucked me in,
whispered thunders through a young preacher
hidden in reserves, unswayed by man's religiosity:
(noice booming fluffy wwws and uuua and sssses and ttts)

"And ye shall seek me,
and find me, when ye shall search for me
with all your heart."
(hmm caps for god?)




Inspired by God's Word
Jeremiah 29 KJV



pretty groovy - imho it's the tunnel thats illusory, not the light at the end noice read