When we walked upon the egg shells of hatched ideas past,
or we shattered the sheltered frame of the big picture
and walked upon its broken glass while stomping the memories down to cashed-in ash,
and washed it away while walking on water with stigmata,
only to drown from the holes in our red feet that the Messiah had scrubbed clean,
the water dyed, multiplied, and turned into wine--
the day we left our Promise Land for the Divine.
--Dr. Pen Name