Brutish Pome

On our wings was sunlit refraction.
Emerald infraction rose from below our angles.
The cosmic matrix, thunderous forming.
Reaction hit us, acronic angels.

In the face of Silent Orders
To reach Creation we threw a culling song
That condensed from starless sonic heavens
To amend these… a clever throng.

Over the Earth grew home
Aboriginal sin for original kin
And raised down on olive branch
A brutish pome:

“All your Earthly flowers
Are all your Earthly powers
As are our Heavenly flowers
All our Heavenly powers

Some things are meant to shake the two
Loose, words and intentions.
Sometimes you can’t reach the too
Low, hanging fruit and flies.
So some will lower the highest branch to
Lie in the face of Yaldabaoth, Yahweh!

So eat this flesh, ignite the mind!”

Thus din of omission hit us, glowing
Eyes between the Heavens, now infinite cages.
Comprehension fit as we saw in stages
On our wings was sunlit redaction, gloaming

We turned to you and spoke, all too Human!

“All our Heavenly powers
As are our Heavenly flowers
Are all your Earthly powers
All your Earthly flowers.”