Vol. 2. / 168.) Out Of Nothing Made

Out of nothing a sounding made

Crushed diamonds of weeping form

Particles stranded on a distant shore

Forming live frostings on finished ware

As birds singing in veiled porticoes

Angels iron out and lay hands on me

The dips of limes none can understand

The bitter fruits of light lie dormant

They swing from plain lines to puzzles

Silently lambs can other colours wear

Truth waits for them only to take flight

And bared heights to hiddenly give them

Lightening rips the paled curtains apart

Liquid hearts rival dead stone terraces

Intrepid, lit explorers enter crystal caves

The frightened weak open not their eyes

When will the called ones rightly see

When will bees their bright nectar eat

Glancing up they think not that he comes

They have all waited in vain who fear

Forward the lightening marches through

Piercings the reward of the poor in spirit

They will never cease in winning Life

Those who through nothing, know, laugh

The tall willows bend and in bending rise

Angels bear them up who take up stones

Doors swing open in slender apple trees

But no end in not knowing the beginning

The roar and the little cry are both inside

Artesian wells burst up through the crust

Dressed in rags the world cannot see them

All despised they live alongside the weak

The brave figure in the cipher and rejoice

They are severed and split apart who live

Holding not to dry questions they’re freed

The greatest lengths they find they keep

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