Peter Lilly: Poems

We travel in spirals, within spirals. It's a bigger picture, and more beautiful than your circles. Yet when the loops tighten, as time's fingers around the trachea of our solar system, we know, even the spirals are not the whole picture. Your irises, forged from Neptune's ice, follow the orbits and fear the heat of friction. They do not fear melting, but evaporation and the end of all things seen. It's this fear that keeps our lenses frozen, fixated on hypnotic rotations, unable to focus on the constant. It's this fear that keeps our lenses frozen, fixated on hypnotic metaphors, unable to break from the pattern of the present. Unable to acknowledge a wider perspective that can glimpse the self-identifying verity amidst the coils of our models of truth. Steadfast and unwavering, he wants to be perceived and he exists outside of our spirals. Therefore we must adapt ...

Personified hope
 bleeds a new type of blood
 that changes everything.
 Day whispers the beauty of solar warmth 
to its successor,
 and night learns the depths of starry wisdom from its predecessor, each reminding this self-conscious sphere of the glory of our creator. But every day we slightly mishear, 
each distortion is magnified by years, 
 each childlike age chews at its own flesh in fear 
each, confused by pain searches the skies for answers,
 Because everything has its orbit. 


 Yet The Originator of it all stooped into this cell structure and was born with a guiding proclamation from the sky, he stepped inside matter and was tangible for evermore, he stretched out feeble infant-limbs with all the body's nerve endings to truly feel. The Originator grew in potent purifying grace; so putrid to a distorted universe that his life of self-less giving and shameless truth lead to gratuitous and agonising crucifixion. Th...