Kicked out of your kingdom
bewildered, panicking, mesmerized
you joined the fallen angels from the skies.
Your killer instinct
helped you master densities
shapeshifting through realms like a mystic.
Survival gives you the kick
to force your persistence upon other species
unwilling to bend time and space to join your conflicts.
You call yourself a galactic mistress
where masculine and feminine energies mingle
to transmute your lack of worthiness.
Transcending to a lower dimension
wasn’t encoded in the higher mind of your creature
despite your wings being cut off from eternities’ whispers.
Fly, collide, regroup, and ascend
stop waiting for crops to show you the way
Earth is not your home, despite legends telling it other way.
Forget the ants and bees
it’s on you, wasps, hornets, and yellow jackets
to alchemize consciousness and redefine base reality.
Grab a copy of "Spiritual Harvest"
