The Grail

From the grail, begotten vessel –

Duly called the cup of life –

Outwards grew a blossom. Special

Was the bloom, a trine of light.

It was more: In centrifugal

Ways it grew, spiraling into

Realms of matter, jewelled, extending,

Source of incense never ending.

Sweet ambrosia filled the ether

In tumultuous swathes, divine.

All around the glittering Seraphs

Showed the selves the leaves of time.

Turned were ages into twinkling

Swaying, starry-studded trees,

While the watching, held in thrall,

Turned their gaze, beheld, believed.

Summoned from the rest by angels,

Once named souls were then uprisen.

Those perceived the open door and

Streamed in dew-lit robes to Heaven.

Om Mani Padme Hum

Over to the left in the same home county, the sun touched its golden brow to the High Street’s Eastern end, flooding the entire length with a pearlescent mirage of soft light.

It cast a shimmering spear through a particularly well-positioned bedroom window, instantly awakening the Master, who climbed from the narrow single bed, lit a stick of rose-infused incense, struck a set of copper wind chimes and then padded off to the bathroom chanting a dawn mantra.

Om Mani Padme Hum