The Life We Cannot Rewrite
If only my life, were a picture show;
one, which I could easily edit;
knowing then; what I now know;
I’d take the script and shred it.
Life isn’t protected by a four leaf clover;
consequences are etched in stone;
none of us
An Ocean Called Love
Love begins hot with passion’s fire;
nothing can cool love down;
wisdom is infused with love’s desire;
without love; life would drown.
Often, even love becomes routine;
sacrificing much of its mystery;
too many. regard love as a dream;
condemning their love to history.
The Uncertainty Of It All
We live daily in a world where all is seen and heard;
with destiny hinting at what’s coming our way;
where we’re told; “there’s never a discouraging word”
and, that “the skies are not cloudy all day.”
Words of encouragement from “Home
…In Touch With Humanity
What is this thought; this feeling of touch;
what kind of road does it pave;
sometimes, it’s too little; sometimes, too much;
we feel it; from cradle to grave.
Could it be the splash of a friend or lover;
upon the shores of our thought;
Rising From The Ashes
My life is a flow; first up, then down;
success always had its allure;
now, I’m living the life of a clown;
for nothing in life is for sure.
Life is the flow of a river, forbidden;
a treacherous journey to belief;
truth is the
A Temporary Status
The hardened reality of light,
retreats slowly to vapor,
the day overtakes the night,
gaining the Master’s favor.
Such is the illusion of reality,
it swiftly comes and goes,
this massive mist of duality,
like a river, it flows.
Consciousness; a heavenly realm,
rides on the
Practice Doesn’t Make Perfect
The more we practice; the better we get;
of that; we can always be certain;
perfection can’t be achieved, by sweat;
it lives alone beyond a veiled curtain.
Perfection is a road, where man cannot go;
for it is the Master’s home;
persistance
Selective Memory
All are concerned about loss of cognition;
when somehow we fail to remember;
often it’s caused by a physical condition;
when, in June, we think it’s December.
Sometimes our memory becomes selective;
we think what we want to be thinking;
times, when we’ve lied, we
