A Season For Dying
All was created out of purpose; for reasons;
nothing created; became out of chance;
the essence of time; was divided into seasons;
welcome; dear one; join in God’s dance.
Most think they’re creatures of circumstance;
that divinity is not in control;
love is God’s advanced form of romance;
it’s the oxygen of the soul.
Very much like, with the grasses and trees;
physicality simply ebbs and flows;
truth’s discovery; sends us to our knees;
for it’s where all wisdom grows.
Consciousness is a life shared with God;
through him; we all are inflated;
a season of death; to many, seems odd;
tho this season of life is overated.
Death is our season to return to the Master;
enjoying a season with him, above;
a seed of new life is planted in pasture;
and we are reborn as love.
There’s a way to know when my time has come;
past my time; all life becomes diminished;
I learned from the Master my time here is done;
as he said from the cross; “It is finished!”
Like everything else; death has its reasons;
it isn’t the end; that many suppose;
it’s merely the changing of life’s seasons;
when the bloom falls from the rose.
Monty 5/27/24. # 2,129