by Thomas Kelly
On crystalline paths of wounded ways
A cyclical prophecy defines its haze.
A prayer confounding through its dreams
Caught up inside space between.
When cynics deny inherent trust
Denouncements ring atop the bluff.
So when it jumped they thought it fell
Into a sky of dull pastels.
But it glides on wings of phoenix red,
The apothecary melts at summer’s shed.
So molt the skin to hear the stars,
Their liminal hymn of human farce.
The years have split the psalmy hand
So that glass may now pass through to sand.
About the Contributor & Piece
Thomas Kelly is a Junior English Major with a Biology Minor. Among other hobbies, he spends a lot of his time writing poetry as a way to understand the world and himself better.
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