Theopeningofthefifthseal
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    I was visited by an Angel yesterday afternoon. Not as you might expect, not dressed in a flowing, white gown No visible halo Wings discreetly folded in the small, grey rucksack On his back. He asked for me by name And tho' we'd never met before I knew him instantly And greeted him with a smile. Which he returned as we exchanged greetings. And then the most wondrous thing happened, He reached into his back pack And I thought, just for a moment, I might glimpse those glorious wings In anticipation, I leaned closer, O to view the transportation of a messenger from on high! But he reached into his bag and handed me something only Angels such as he are tasked to give, And gently spoke that modern Angels find it swifter to convey their messages By smart or Apple phones. Eve was onto a winner when she picked that fruit! He handed me two small flat objects And with a swift and deft touch connected me once more to the World. Do Angels have names any more? I asked him. He looked bemused; I am <REDACTED> of the <REDACTED>, he answered. If this does not work try the other And failing that Call the Angel helpline, that's IT! I thanked him there and then And in a moment he was gone My Angel

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    More prompts from Theopeningofthefifthseal

    3d projection of a quaternion Mandelbrot set. Vibrant hyperbolic abstract art.
    In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round; And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
    All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king.
    Proserpine, An elegantly dressed lady pictured in a gloomy corridor of her palazzo, a poisoned apple is held in her hand, as she passes a gleam strikes on the wall behind her admitting for a moment the sight of the outside world, she is glancing furtively towards the light, immersed in thought, an incense-burner sits on a table beside her. Ivy branches in the background represent clinging memories. The photo is focused on her expression, closeup, artistically portrayed and styled photography, contropasto.
    Vibrant neon art depicting a server room with an askew ‘Under Maintenance: Please wait’ sign, a Baháʼí manfestation of god is in the room attempting to help the servers acheive spritual revelations.
    Ερος δ' ετιναξε μοι φρενας, ως ανεμοσ κατ ορος δρυσιν εμπετων
    A mosaic portraying an ouroboros The tiles of the mosaic is made of show the whole image. Mandelbrot set. Infinite repetition. Fractal imagery.
    Title Heresiarch, a painting on a palazzo ceiling by the old master Francesco Montemezzano
    A work composed by Gustave Courbet, but in a modern bright style. A close up of a pretty Irish redhaired woman, she is carefully examining her curly red locks in a silver mirror sat atop a table. Her hand are running through her hair. The setting is an artist studio with ornate romantic woodwork features. Portrait of Jo (La belle Irlandaise)
    Ερος δ' ετιναξε μοι φρενας, ως ανεμοσ κατ ορος δρυσιν εμπετων
    Art work entitled: We live as we dream, alone. Consiting of a complex arrangement of objects and figures. Surrealism, Joan Miró i Ferrà
    inksketch painting, How feeble thy man hast come forth unto us To thine blessed land Provoking his crucifixion... Thus to endure the reality of everlasting damnation... So as said... Thy feeble savious... Is to return... Thou only suffer evermore Suffer! How feeble thy man hast come forth unto Golgotha
    Ερος δ' ετιναξε μοι φρενας, ως ανεμοσ κατ ορος δρυσιν εμπετων
    3d projection of a quaternion Mandelbrot set. Vibrant hyperbolic abstract art.
    Heresiarch
    I was visited by an Angel yesterday afternoon. Not as you might expect, not dressed in a flowing, white gown No visible halo Wings discreetly folded in the small, grey rucksack On his back. He asked for me by name And tho' we'd never met before I knew him instantly And greeted him with a smile. Which he returned as we exchanged greetings. And then the most wondrous thing happened, He reached into his back pack And I thought, just for a moment, I might glimpse those glorious wings In anticipation, I leaned closer, O to view the transportation of a messenger from on high! But he reached into his bag and handed me something only Angels such as he are tasked to give, And gently spoke that modern Angels find it swifter to convey their messages By smart or Apple phones. Eve was onto a winner when she picked that fruit! He handed me two small flat objects And with a swift and deft touch connected me once more to the World. Do Angels have names any more? I asked him. He looked bemused; I am <REDACTED> of the <REDACTED>, he answered. If this does not work try the other And failing that Call the Angel helpline, that's IT! I thanked him there and then And in a moment he was gone My Angel.
    inksketch painting, Fighting Gold Deep in my rumbling blood There is something like the grains Of stardust in the sky My soul shines — a light that never will fade From under any wreckage Fly higher than the gods A force of nature, I'm phenomenal Fighting Gold
    Title Heresiarch,oil on canvas by El Greco
    Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul
    3d projection of a quaternion Mandelbrot set. Vibrant hyperbolic abstract art.
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