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Writer's pictureThe Church of St. John-Fulton The Long Winded

Bottom of the Sea

Further on, and up, my mentors speaking. Further on and up, causes my heart weeping.


For my eyes set on the clouds slowly moving. Like great islands lazily wading through an effulgent sea. This world of great mystery lies beyond golden light. A land of imagination to satisfy my heart’s one appetite.


But how is one to swim across the sea, so filled with dark happiness which deceives. One with ease can sink deep to misery. For hollow joy which I chase turn to ash, leaves me bereft in present and in past.


Oh noble islands drifting up above, there is an adventure which must leed to your shores, but standing on the bottom of the sea must my eyes grow dimly? Must my mind grow weary?


Oh promise, come swiftly. Oh sacred time let me not stop yearning for thee. Let not this tepid sole be washed away. But there may I belong to stay. Maybe not great, maybe just poor, but always to dwell in, evermore.

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