Soliloquy 1
7:59-8:08 post meridiem, Lunae, 8 Decembris anno 2014
BRIDGE to the days of our lives making heading in the hills of a thousand to ten thousand years old.
Morning crossing river in the light of a generation calling to the front of the insight recovering to long last the beginning of ends coming into view.
At last the time has come for a 21st century coming true.
Believe, yes believe and it will come to truth contrary to all exaggerations believing.
Gentle is the softness that awaits for the holy of hollies coming to the brow of the hill.
Church in the valley.
See the mercy; hear the compassion coming to the forefront.
Bare to the heartache of the time honoured bliss.
Stand and see to the armies coming down the valley.
Arches covering waters to believe in the Christ of the kingdoms coming to make believe of the peoples reaching to space heaven.
Admit the carriage waiting for the spiritual being of essence departing by the near gate coming round riding slow in a gallop to a trot.
Touch the sky with the eyes of your gaze listening to the voices coming from the seas and hills of my island homeland.
Listen; listen can you hear them?
Hear to what I hear to nothing strange coming.
There is someone coming and crawling inside the contrails of the ups and downs posting genuine ingenuity.
I swear by the bible in the pouch of roundabout.
Imagine.
There is the rippling of the river waters.
Is it springtime; is it late autumn, can’t tell as this sliding dream fading in my heart to come back again to Éire of my childhood.
How can I say what there is to say except that frontline is falling into disuse.
It must be forthcoming telling orthodoxy.
Abiding in Bobbio: Monk Colombano Europaggio
7:59-8:08 post meridiem, Lunae, 8 Decembris anno 2014
BRIDGE to the days of our lives making heading in the hills of a thousand to ten thousand years old.
Morning crossing river in the light of a generation calling to the front of the insight recovering to long last the beginning of ends coming into view.
At last the time has come for a 21st century coming true.
Believe, yes believe and it will come to truth contrary to all exaggerations believing.
Gentle is the softness that awaits for the holy of hollies coming to the brow of the hill.
Church in the valley.
See the mercy; hear the compassion coming to the forefront.
Bare to the heartache of the time honoured bliss.
Stand and see to the armies coming down the valley.
Arches covering waters to believe in the Christ of the kingdoms coming to make believe of the peoples reaching to space heaven.
Admit the carriage waiting for the spiritual being of essence departing by the near gate coming round riding slow in a gallop to a trot.
Touch the sky with the eyes of your gaze listening to the voices coming from the seas and hills of my island homeland.
Listen; listen can you hear them?
Hear to what I hear to nothing strange coming.
There is someone coming and crawling inside the contrails of the ups and downs posting genuine ingenuity.
I swear by the bible in the pouch of roundabout.
Imagine.
There is the rippling of the river waters.
Is it springtime; is it late autumn, can’t tell as this sliding dream fading in my heart to come back again to Éire of my childhood.
How can I say what there is to say except that frontline is falling into disuse.
It must be forthcoming telling orthodoxy.
Abiding in Bobbio: Monk Colombano Europaggio
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