Observations Of Thoughts
My voice is a note on the musical scale;
my tears, are but droplets of sea;
the truth of reality is behind the veil;
while my body struggles to be.
My hair is the grass that grows on my face;
my ears acquaint me with sound;
my feet are the servants to take me someplace;
the earth, is where I’m still bound.
My hands exist to write down each thought;
while my eyes pretend to see;
they only allow in light, that’s been brought;
the mind, says what it’s to be.
All of my thoughts, are just morning fog;
they just seem to come and go;
somewhere in my mind there is a log;
collating all I need know.
The world, all around me, seems detached;
but it seems I’m still going strong;
to the “outside world”, I seem mismatched;
but, the Master still leads me on.
Everything in eternity, serves its purpose;
from a wasted thumbtack to a garbage bag;
perhaps, the Master will allow all to surface;
even that wastrel, whose tongue likes to wag.
All came to be, from conception of thought;
from divine energies all has become;
all of reality, that the Master has wrought
and, a new cycle of life, then begun.
Monty 6/20/22. # 1,178