Words spill and spell rhyming and still

The pause of the cesura, the cascade of

The run-on phases, each a formation

Of her illusion of text. 

She rolls her parchment into a cylinder

She places it into her bag.

She is on her way into a dream

A surrealist vision.

Musical notes, words, symbols 

are all mathematical notation mixed

With numerology.

She gazes at the sky.

And wishes for signs the future is near.

There she lay side by side

 with the octagonal cross 

She struggled to carry.

Mimicked by the signs

Of the seventh trumpet.

She begs for the power,

Of the Virgin to ignite 

Her soul, with forbearance

So she can melt her sins

Away and sing as the Sage.

Pandora of the hopeless,

Green amulet of the divine within the soul

A magical revolution of the sublime

Nature of the universe.