One random evening, I was reclining
in an armchair deep within the room,
my eyes resting on a brilliant orange patch,
the powerful throw of a setting sun
low on the room wall. It was then
my fascination was engaged by
the cast of intricate shadows,
stirring and still, be they of branch outside,
or of some object on a shelf, the more
to gaze, the more to zero in to what
blended into all round, but there refined
as utter perfection – I, to whisper:
‘Infinite beauty!’ as in discovery
of what to faith itself is mystery.
Thank you, kind lady; but are we not all created in the image of God? Everything by virtue of identity, a shadow, is related to the Almighty, for identity is absolute and out of time. This was heaven's first heresy - that being absolute meant being equal to God, forgetting that it is the Absolute that sustains all absolutes.
rdashby 20-Feb-2014 14:53 PM
This multi layered poem has infinite beauty with an intriguing quality - like God above!
