A Third String Of Pearls

Georges Cunningham



The sun is a playground

Dazzling in its supremacy

Fabulous in its strength

Constant, resolute, zealous

And yet…unfulfilling


The human mind is a playground

Endless in its bounty

Astounding in its independence

Calculating, grandiloquent, aloof

And yet…dissatisfying


The astral plane is a playground

Unfathomable in its scope

Ludicrous in its totality

Ethereal, transcendent, wraithlike

And yet...


Kaleidoscopic rays propagate through a haze,

Jagged with shards of meretricious languor,

Filling the blank vacuum

With substance and verve.


The illumination blooms

Becoming as omnipresent

As the vacancy preceding.


The countenance that births this transformative light,

That scatters the shadows,

That quells the squalls of discontentment,

Triumphs over all things corporeal,

All things noetic,

All things spiritual.

Ultimate, infinite, overwhelming

And yet…semptiernal



You are a playground...