I was humbled by the truth.

After all, I am not God.
I am only the creator,
and only you are the creation.
You are other than me.
To you, I must confess.

I am old and wise;
all too powerful;
and hence, impotent.

And to tell you the Truth,
You bore me endlessly.
So much, that I think
you are my Creation.
Each of your imperfections
gives rise to another sun in me.

But I cannot bring myself
to summon up the energies
required to discharge
the juice of all creation.
I am not changing.
I, all too powerful,
have lost the power to create
by loving your ashes.


I am the tigress of the jungle. 
I promise to redeem the lion sage.
My children shall do:
They shall break all the barriers
that obstruct any rivers of thought.
They will become; they will indulge
in being, and I shall cleanse them
with my ashes.

Through the pores of my imperfections,
where resides the knowledge of all seductions,
I will summon up your living lights.
Leave this old magic to me.
All I need is your submission.


~ by Bombadil on May 31, 2008.

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