Mass Poem by Steven Silent Wolf
Mass
The spirit is breathing
eternal internal
until the Word eternal
external matters
mixing us up to ourselves
for a spell
farming a slower
and alternate alchemy
to offer the ailing lead earth
a gold body
as fluent as rivers of wine
turned to water
where a stolen red penny
pays crossing price
but limits the magic
to son and to daughter
who will both
priest and sacrifice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/5/2026 11:34:31 AM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
