The Ocean; the metaphor of infinity;
its breadth and depth, unimagined;
representing the scope of divinity;
its full consequences, unfathomed.
The Ocean; is a sky, that’s underground;
like sky; that ocean has oxygen within;
another place where life’s breath is found;
and fish can breathe while they swim.
Many speak of seeing God’s face;
as tho, He’s a physical being;
instead of considering His grace;
we’re oft transfixed, with seeing.
Others talk of hearing His voice;
as tho He speaks in our tongue;
thought transmission, is His choice;
for thoughts cannot be undone.
Though we
…Where do we go; when no longer here;
to our children; how do we reply?
How can we address their growing fear;
“Daddy, where do we go; when we die?”
Promises are made to be broken;
as many have found to be true;
and tho, promises seem only token;
promises
I am but a seed of your Consciousness;
planted in soil of your composition;
destined to be part of righteousness;
for that was your own decision.
I am invested with your Truth and Love;
I cannot fail, unless it be my choosing;
given sustenance and strength from above;
and never,
Many times, a problem comes about;
the answer is frequently the same;
the cause for it remains in doubt;
for, “I’m not the one, to blame.”
Many will not accept accountability;
they’d rather pass it on to another;
but, all need to accept responsibility;
not, blame a sister
Do thoughts travel; do they go anyplace;
or simpy reside, anchored to the mind?
Can they be explored, or even erased;
how is it they’re changed or refined?
Do thoughts present themselves, beyond being;
expanded beyond where you are;
do they possess either hearing or seeing;
are they known,
Life is often measured, only by gains;
with losses, rarely held in account;
after those losses, whatever remains;
are far fewer than what we surmount.
But, sometimes we feel we’re discarded;
like trash, sumarily dismissed;
our love has been totally disregarded;
once gone; we’ll never be missed.
Life
…All truth is best expressed in thought;
for thoughts can’t be erased or changed;
if we could read them, we’d know what ought;
but, turned into words, they’re rearranged.
Thoughts are idly, floating free in the air;
there’s no way they can be disguised;
pushed by
