use and abuse
all our relations,
and then imagine we,
the pinnacle of creation,
hold a superior place,
and have dominion
over all we conquer
with our namings.

Better we come,
creeping like the worm
before the mighty force
with gifts and gratitude,
begging to realise
the tiny part
we’re called upon to play,
honouring the might
and pure ferocity,
the fire within,
the glory that blinds,
and the thunderous
voice we are too deaf
too hear
over our own whinings.

That which we call Love
is the dragon spirit
of the cosmos,
mighty and fierce
in its energy
that is beyond
our understanding,
for that which I know
is small and insignificant
by comparison,
that which I understand,
but a shallow drawing,
and I mistake
this mighty vacuum
before which I stand
for the cave
in which the dragon lurks,

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