Pagan Poems from a Certain Time of Music

Everything is all
over thrice small
so double suns
illuminate all as one:


Everything is all
and all is everything
so the pixies sing
high on the wing
through gold rays
flying ancient ways
tring, tring, tring
sounds wind bring
on photosynthesis
sky highway bliss
leaves to branches
trunk, trees’ haunches
Earth’s hum translators
emerging in whispers:
what a very thing
life is after all
is said and done.

Two above written while listening to first 39 minutes of:

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