Auraphile that I am, I approach.

The three-word glowing halograph:

Way, truth, and life.

Way glows a changing crimson hue,

Truth shimmers past in purest blue,

While life dances over them

In richest emerald green.

Light drapes over the vast vault

Of the abyssal great beyond

In front of space

It takes no space

Yet shows its face

To be in place,

Resplendent towering throne of grace.

Light darkens.

Shadowed by some awful cloud,

And would thunder forth

If but allowed,

It silences the rabble crowd,

And mutes the arrogance

Voiced by the proud.

And in the hush

I hear a sound

Soft, melodious

Like no song found

As I hear the joining colors sing

Their paean rising,

As if a bird were taking wing,

For their tribute to their King.

Filled with wonder

I know this place,

I have visited oft on times before

When angels touched me

And I flew outside of earthy bonds

To the vantage where my mind could see

This auraphile’s reality.

It once was just a notion

Extravagent and wild

That I could join the colors

And I could sing their song

But I let the aura flow

Until I sensed the noise

And found I knew the lyrics all along.

Most days, the bright ones,

I walk within the light

And let angels set aglow my hopes

Until every shadow disappears

And my vantage point seems ever closer,

For I just overheard their private whisper,

“If this keeps up, he’ll soon be home.”