tingles under this living skin--
mediums have claimed to see me glow--
Elijah-John-whoever he is
high-fives me passing in the aether--
my metaphysical credentials have been mocked
by every worldly religious figure
so you know I'm genuine--
but this shell is cracking--and weariness sets in
and this ghost I will become is itching to break free--
it has endured enough damage--it wants to be freed--
whatever the One allows--my flesh blends into
the mild spring night until I am eyes looking out of the air--
soon my ghost my soul my higher self
the entity I am through every change of condition--
whoever I am I welcome me into yet another
dispensation of infinity
Content (c) 2008-2011 Philip Milito.
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