Meeting of Artists

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It was my soul, that unsuspected lay
The brilliant eyes of our meeting
In voluptuous spiritual clarity

Flattered by thy faithfulness to literature
The hidden merits of a lifetime
Of soul-searching, angelic choirs

And tears that probe the unseen
My yearning means nothing if
I resign the future to her promises

I hold part of the sanctuary
In my vision of delight in evolution
It was my soul, cast to eternity
Felt the golden skin of a future self
It was not me, it was genius incarnate

And she called me like a counsellor
To tell me of the triumph of love
In the embrace of a network
Where the internet is lost in sacred connection
Art would not lose itself but regain

The love withdrawn in declining time
That saves from soul and spirit’s tide
In a pure disseminated peaceful ray.

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