Fickle

poem by: John Prophet
Written on Oct 24, 2022 

Fickle.
Reality.
Such
a thing?
Slipping
in and
out.
Back
and forth.
Sliding
dimensionally,
infinitely so.
One realm
real as
them all.
Dance
of the
Angels
never ending.
Filling it
all with
song.
The gods
be fickle.
Never
enough.
Never
satisfied.
Creation
spans
infinite
realms.
So reality
be.

 

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