Beware the Bearers of False Gifts

They sweep, light, and each actuated by a
vague internal engine, not what one may
describe…a spirit like the telecast and
now untethered images of our lives
that look back somehow—
yes, the remembering of it, the closing hand,
if hands were minds and made to clench like
striking fists—they glide, though not on air quite
either, on an aura they create, and we see their
black shadow cast against the universe, and see
its luminescence, the universe saying in turn,
“I am everything but this.” Inscribing one quick
secret they depart, have told what minds like ours
though old, the age of suns and unembodied know—
that man is evil, even animals deceive, and
beware the bearers of false gifts. Believe.

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can read it here for free, or get it for your e-reader on iBooks, Amazon or Kobo. Or you can just say you read the book, and donate five bucks down below. Go on.

Gabriel Muoio


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