New roads being paved nearly every day;
as old ones have become obliterated;
landscapes keep changing in every way;
past lifetimes; completely incinerated.
Past meadows; long gone, many times over;
while new buildings replace all the old;
those meadows now filled with the latest clover;
as a new present completely
Most seek to avoid true reality;
it often troubles our mind;
we accept superficiality;
whenever reality’s defined.
Some think that lives are random;
simply falling, like summer rain.
Surely, nobody planned them;
what could they possibly gain?
And, who could such a creator be;
and what is his scope
Often we shout; just to be heard;
but that isn’t, really, how it works;
whispers are better; it seems absurd;
but it’s one of reality’s quirks.
Imagine, shouting at someone you love;
do you think you’ll make an impression?
They might shout back and give a
The soul is dust from God’s energy;
from which, He created the man;
combined with His power of synergy;
Light flashed and creation began.
All energies entombed throughout eternity;
the ultimate powers of God, within;
a womb of creation was God’s maternity;
compelled by His thoughts to begin.
The physical body; a metaphor of mankind;
tho the energy, within, is the soul.
Souls are the ones by which man is defined;
mere appearance; the body’s role.
For the body acts as a caterpillar and caccoon;
while the true heart of the soul, may hide;
though the physical
Times change; but passion goes on;
trashing my pen and my quill;
my typewriter has long since gone;
and my computer desires my will.
Spellcheck is how the demons began;
as though, spelling’s their call;
I wish to finish my thoughts, if I can;
but the computer thinks for
How can we be so far apart;
from the footsteps we vow to follow?
He has, within, a love filled heart;
we have a pump that is hollow.
He can forgive the vilest sin;
we always dwell on that sinner.
He will allow them to live again;
in forgiveness, we’
Every artist paints for a reason;
for each has a message to convey;
and writers, too, have their season;
when their Master wants his say.
The creator behind each artist’s obsession,
doesn’t hold the brush or a quill;
the Master is sharing a personal expression;
conveying his love
