By Robert Martin.
At the dawning when man walked afresh
Peering into life, that strange phenomenon
At baby blue gems that adorn the ceiling
With a yellow sphere emerging from them
Those skyward oceans held up above
And nobody or nothing to keep them there
Sometimes smothered by white satin
That floats by to peer at the grandeur
Sometimes agitated with its copious crying
Mingling together in a furious pace
Those black masses in their nervous swirling
Like a witch’s brew, or a sorcerer’s spell
Sometimes speaking in a booming voice
Sometimes strewing fire that
Pelts the earth with its rage
Sometimes God speaks in passion
Moving deliberately, boldly, and freely
If I ascended the mountain, can I
Touch the blue ocean that floats above?
Can I bathe in its vast waters?
Or does it feel like it does here?
Then I will have nothing new to witness
Lofted oceans are the same
Up above or here on earth