From one source, each lamp is lit.
Reflecting their time, archaic, but now.
The wear of life, which never fit,
The lights attire, the dark disavow.
Photo of Apt near Trevi Fountain, Rome, Italy
I can trace my lineage.
It wasn’t erased.
When they tried, they didn’t miss what they lost.
Photo at Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore
For a tent was set up.
The first part: a lamp stand, table, and the bread of the Presence.
This was called the Holy Place. (Heb 9:2)
Then, my heart in fear, rage, and indifference.
These two have to mix well.
Photo at St Anthony’s Church in Rome, Italy
There are things that may not seem to go together,
And then a person shows you otherwise.
If I only could have found that person sooner.
Photo of Basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere
A clarion call with an angelic being proclaiming.
The raised banner and the horses on lifted legs.
So the sky, the earth, and all that filled them were compelled.
But it’s all easier to see when you are on the outside of the picture.
Photo of Rome, Italy.
I made a proclamation, but parts of me weren’t aware.
So I made another even louder. But those parts never woke up.
Photo at Basilica of St. Paul outside the Walls
There’s the constant forward movement with a complete picture in mind.
Then becoming the desired outcome only to be reshaped for another purpose.
But then the picture was really only a drawing of a purpose and wasn’t complete anyway.
Photo at the Colosseum in Rome, Italy. It is the remains of a sculpture that was was used for parts.
If I were at the beginning, I could see how the road led me here.
I could follow the flow of the oil of gladness and remain on portending soil.
Photo from Santa Maria in Trastevere
The Latin means (“In this, the first shrine of the Mother of God, formerly a noted tavern, a fountain of oil erupting from the ground predicted Christ’s birth”)