#poem #poetry #amwriting #sketchbook convert d

In the beginning it was not the word
but the compromise, between that divine
and the practical of possibilities.
And God saw that it was good, and rejoiced.


Where yesterday, they lay unbound within
that pit of joy: skipping pleasure's eye shone:
processing o'er the virgin stars of night.
Uncleaved, the fruit, no cloven star reveals
but split between parts recognised,
in critical comprehension; what perfect
in created form forms patterns incidental


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