
it comes again — from heaven
a strike of thunder—
not a post-trample
echo from a distinct temple
I roar—
I sample
was—Sam?
my bond to Adam?
seek it—
death. feel it or not
I shall turn this summit—solid
no admiration, no proving
a provoking rhyme—
not for your tongue
funny to tell…
but when you hear—me, that you—
you-you… hymn?
how? why ask—
as if I would answer
in fact, I don’t
I threw the puzzle—berserk
heavy on your body
void-smirk, my joke
skull.
labyrinth.
no blueprint
sign it
significant—arrogant… at its—end
I saw you reading
your eyes—clap / collapse
your mind—crack… cracks
fragement collection:Thunder
Where the divine strikes, language does not die —
it splinters into something older than meaning.
A sequence written inside the wound.
Fragments of a self that touched the absolute
and came back wrong — and luminous.
About the Creator
LUCCIAN LAYTH
L.LUCCIAN is a writer, poet and philosopher who delves into the unseen. He produces metaphysical contemplation that delineates the line between thinking and living. Inever write to tellsomethingaboutlife,but silences aremyway ofhearing it.




Comments (1)
love how this piece unfolds 🌟 It feels like a journey in itself.