Allow me to compose for You, for I called You a poem knowing that You in all You are are art. You are words dripping from my tongue, satiating A thirst for medium form, and style, Life. I called You, Poetry. You showed up late and underdressed, A sight to behold. All glory, In the sunlight.

Untitled   Brains think and believe in electricity that sparks  movement from limb to limb. And we continue in this way calling it synapse or science, Which is really just a more decorative description  for that which we cannot understand.   Psalm 104:27-30