In what realm were you created? From the Bhagavad-Gita or the Old Testament? Or something more ancient? Older than my ancestor’s blood. Deeper than sunken slave ships. Im the descendant from ascended souls. Shackled like cargo. Did they speak of you as the crossed the sea? Hymns, songs, they knew languages greater than Enochian. I ask out of curiosity. Out of respect. Out of wisdom and intrigue. I ask because I see you on a daily, like revelations. Were you formed from the bodies of older gods? From the deceased deities? Cataclysm. That’s the name of your blush. Ragnarök. That’s the name of your skin tone. Brilliance and sweetness. Is this where they housed Jerusalem? Sanctify this weary body of mine. Bless this soul. Tell me what God is like. You must know her from your reflections. I know you’re bodies houses the Throne.