Wee Morning Muse

In the bright darkness Mani rides, Mani watches
Bits of Ymir they watch too
Staring down on little orbs that slowly scratch their way
Making shallow marks on ebony velvet
The creatures born in middle earth
A single orb, one of many
To think they stare back at Him … at Them
The piercing eyes that stretch to see,
To harness some scope of divinity
To rationalize and categorize
Night lights they cannot understand
Little scribbles playing god
All the while the god watches the watchers
Watching the watched
This stare is a dance
For eons now
The music … the winds of Gunnunga
A very few have touched Mani’s face
Only to lose the view
But for that moment godlike bound
Those few saw the scribbles too
How odd might it seem
To personify a truth
What is within is without
What is without is within
Never once will Mani they be
But a bit brighter now
When they again scribble on velvet freely

[Marshall Stands has been penning poems longer than he’d care to admit.  This piece was driven by a most weary-eyed muse with a not-yet-polished tongue.  His works include spiritual and non-spiritual poetry, allegorical short stories, political and philosophical satire, as well as fiction.]

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