More of me aligns than doesn’t, which
establishes the awareness, in me,
of the parts that are not aware, the stitch,
in time, that outlines the seam that would be
part and parcel of my maker. Likewise,
when the first soul formed, more of what,
essentially, composes a soul (in disguise
or not), aligned, and He (this Adam), shut
one door and opened another. Doe he
have 5D parents? His father is God.
He’s a mutation of the DNA that we
started with, the structure we applaud,
coming, as it does, from a divine source.
Does he miss his 4D parents? He suffers,
sure, but his suffering plots a course
that transforms the nostalgia he secures
when he sees others, happy, together.
He preserves, no doubt, the memory—
and, as a function of the life he’d defer,
they, in primitive form, awake as He
remembers them, from time to time,
in a special garden, perhaps, governed
by the energy our savior would climb,
once, that is, the cycle is adjourned.
Now, I ask, if i conjure His voice,
and speak to the bulk, addressing God
directly, in what, then, do i rejoice,
if not His will, the big picture I’d defraud,
if the bad in me could outweigh the good?
And if I should conjure my partner?
And address God, as, in time, I would?
Immediate help, then, i’d procure,
speaking to an instantaneous rate of
change, the numbers that, i think, remain
once the everyday object of my love
is factored out of the space i sustain,
bypassing myself, and what I represent.
Don’t i ask for an immediate reply,
or, at least, some idea of what is meant,
when i’d find myself asking others why?
I integrate, on the one hand, with his will,
asking for the strength to understand,
and, on the other, i derive a pill—
something i can take when outmanned,
succumbing to the present moment.
I pray for Adam’s strength, separated,
as I am, from the lifetime i vent,
and the people that live inside my head.
I pray, a little, to accept God’s plan,
and i pray, a little, for the means;
I do for Him, and her, all that i can—
the product, ultimately, of my genes.