![](/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/maxresdefault_13.jpg?itok=VGqWTvky)
The World Above
The night sky spoke for itself.
Emitting perpetual promise,
Unlike the pretense of your idols.
Your lens dotted with the dust of pastors,
Fear of heaven,
Mine clear with the spotless faith in
Mortal hell I found in you.
This poem is about:
Me
Our world