PARENTAL ADVISORY

Hear Ye. Hear Ye. Here we
propose to posit prose poetry,
forming forms of continuous connectivity
to communicate considerable
contemplative reflectivity.

Simply put, we pose this where
prose poetry is what you'll hear
when wondering where the time went
while reading such rhyme wonderments
as oft we've wrought, and revealed thusly;
each whit of wit written Hieronymously.

Angel Song

I emerge from my cocoon, born upon the shore of a small tree surrounded lake.
A late evening light glows in the sky as tree swaying wind moves
delicately through branches, and gently touches my face.
The sound of water trickles itself through the threshold of quietness.
Before me, you lie petaled with blossoms by your side.
I approach, and you smile open to me. Taste, I hear.
So I taste, and find myself at large in the immensity
of a womb seeded with stars, then once again
descend into being. Glorious Angel.