The Sky is Blue, and My Hands are Untied

Ladders arch, and we begin to climb.

Nature versus nurture begins to fold in time.

Lights of evening chime in their own voice.

Hymns of joy escalate to managers like they have a choice.

Forget your karma, reap from your sewings there is more life that this chase.

Angelic beauties rise among us harps illuminate their bronzed face.

No eight fold path as we rise to face glory, his image among us tells his story.

Caste the day as the jackets of amber resonate the journey as we flume among clouds of ancient stories.

Falling all around us is the faux tight ropes built by hands that groan, and below at command.

Chosen among us as the dark departs the distant help me becomes thinner than air.

The contrast beyond believe of the abusive lovers we have grown to be as the uplift raises us above the atmosphere, the white throne calls, and no one is calling out mayday.

Glory.