Five eight-winged white-gold angels hover around the throne of the Eternal Light;
One has ruby eyes, another sapphire,
The fourth, amethyst;
And the fifth, emerald.
Their feet are eagles' talons of brilliantly shining silver;
Their hair is thick and flowing platinum blonde;
They softly breathe pulsing vermilion fire in and out,
Past cobra-like supple forked think jet-black writhing tongues
A rainbow band of light encircles the base of the pearly throne,
And to it are bound, with golden chains,
A tawny lion, a bull black as anthracite, an argent serpent, a bald eagle
A shimmering opalescent ivory unicorn,
A copper-pelted wolf,
And a vulture the color of graphite.
The light around the throne is pallid brilliant white and pulses softly,
Except at the base and at the top, where all the vivid colors of the rainbow shift and pulse and moil.
The thronenine steps it has,
Alternating black, purple and white.
The floora sheet of gleaming pellucid oily polished crystal.
And on the throne...an awful eidolous amorphous presence,
That nonetheless gives the impression of being anthropoid in form,
Flickering fitfully in and out of sight.
It can obliterate galaxies with an idle thought,
And yet it has time for the least little germ.
To be aware that we are completely at its mercy is a horrible thing.
I recount this as Imagination displayed it to me
Oh so woefully inadequate!
Such is the nature of immature humanity,
That shapes the Eternal to our limited understanding.
© 2005 by Mark Andrew Holmes.