The Consolation of a Surreal Gospel
Beside the turning wheel of bronze and bone,
Where Fortune spins her unpredictable light,
She stands in linen, silent and alone,
An unwritten gospel breaking through the night.
The alabaster jar holds more than nard—
It spills a liquid, dreamlike, upside down,
Where sacred verses shatter on the yard,
And golden thorns become a floating crown.
"Is this the crisis?" whispered Magdalene,
As angels bend like glass against the storm,
And history unspools its shadow scene,
Seeking in chaos some eternal form.
Yet Fortune turns her wheel, not to destroy,
But to reveal that sorrow, weighed in gold,
Is but the doorway to a stranger joy
Than any earthly chronicle has told.
She pours the fragrance on the moving sphere,
And in the surreal rupture of the text,
The gospel of consolation rises clear:
The lost made sacred, and the present next.
- Unsung Heroes -
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Listen to some Gracie Abrams new album just because? {Daughter from Hell}
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https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list= OLAK5uy_mDEzo6PKCb7pouztp4MjcZvZ7GInKXp -c&si=6ehb01HGh1dWGeYg
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[Created with Gemini]