Reflected in the colors of its wings
Extends for a great distance
Permeating everything around it
All we see is the residue
Of its continual accomplishments
The four planes of its flight
In this case an orange geometry
Like a little drawing of its ego
Left behind to flutter around
A prayer-flag for the vine
But don’t think they’re peripheral
To the main theme merely anecdotal
In my secret religion
It is they who rule the world
No comments:
Post a Comment