NAG HAMMADI
a pot in a desert
a jar, an amphora
tattered pages, set
like a timebomb
to wake us
from our sleep
that is why
it was not meant
to exist
not suppised,
to be found
and yet it wS
full of deadly turn
the world upside
down gospels
such a different voice here
recorded on the spot
of the resurrected
one himself
so clear here
so
different
you could never
be alloeed to listen
mission
almost fulfilled
HOW
how may I awaken
when still locked
into the dream
that is
beautiful death
dreaming my love
for you
loving
the dream of you?
we touch, we consume,
believe as souls
we have become
one, are
now tethered together
but
where to
after this ecstasy, our
bodies fulfilled, spirits
unable
to soar
too reticent
to fly
towards, away from,
all that we believe we
know, all that we
know
we believe we require?
poems 2 die for