Do there exist, different layers of reality;
realms overlapping, in the same space;
creating an internal-external duality;
with each world wearing a different face?
This multi-faceted kingdom of ancient lore;
is a mere figment, hatched in my mind;
a fantasy, I called Ichabod, may be the door;
where, by accident,
We live in a world of wonder and beauty;
as far as the eye can see;
gaining knowledge has become our duty;
discovering, how it came to be.
A world so complex; teeming with life;
didn’t come about by chance;
thoughts designing a kingdom of strife;
but, also of
I’m a solitary drop of water, in life’s river;
running the gauntlet of life;
I came from the mind of the perfect giver;
the origin of truth and light.
I’m meant as a gift for all who thirst;
for, I carry a drop of His truth, within;
Winds are thoughts; given velocity;
creating emotions within the mind;
sometimes, leading to pomposity;
seeking thoughts of a similar kind.
Some winds are physically destructive;
tornadoes and hurricanes of thought;
physical storms are most instructive;
physical illusions, of emotions brought.
Often, when seeds of love are sown,
they become planted
Death is deemed life’s mortal enemy;
many believe they’ll no more exist;
but death, is another form of energy;
not one we should fear, or resist.
Death is merely one of life’s seasons;
like spring, summer, or fall;
none of us knows all the reasons;
but, it
Can a life exist, dually, in two places;
calling both kingdoms their homes;
each wearing very different faces;
while, in between, its spirit roams?
We only know what thought reveals;
and the mind is telling us nothing;
there’s so much more, thought conceals;
we don’t even know if
Some seem to have been born to lead;
while others are destined to follow;
a very few look out for others in need;
for, so many in this world are shallow.
Some follow, due to personal reasons;
while others, react out of intimidation;
nearly all follow, during some seasons;
for,
We’ve been told, we’ll reap what we sow;
pertaining to growing and then, harvest;
and, good sense, should allow that we know;
the dawn must pierce through the darkest.
Darkness is a staple in all growing seasons;
no life is born out of perfection;
we can’t spend
