The sermoners of the Ascended Age
survey the room and cast
fire in my belly,
your belly,
brimming with achieved desires
and ideas that were repeated
once, twice, thrice,
another seven or ten times
since the Beginning
until humanity reached Aha!
and something happened,
something was created
by our perpetual mindness.
Only our desires at a certain time
are unique
if we chose to make them
within such confines.
Destruction is joyful,
and resurrection is
something we can all do
over and over again
every time we move
a molehill.
We sermon ourselves
when we answer our wishes.
Every day is a Sunday,
Saturday, Christmas, or birthday,
and we are the
pastors, priests, and popes
of our own making.
Every desire,
no matter how unique,
every path,
no matter how forked,
every message,
no matter how interpreted,
leads to a homecoming.