Perfection: the infinity of all;
it will never, ever be found;
elevation above our call;
perfected love all around.
A goal worthy of God, only;
attainable by none other;
a space, elevated and lonely;
a dream for man to discover.
A throne where Love is king;
never to be dethroned;
Perception is a strange energy device;
helping us to understand where we are;
sometimes it seems to merely entice;
making reality itself seem bizarre.
Truth so seldom stands out in the open;
it hides in the rear of the classroom;
leaving us hopefully scratchin and gropin;
in order to discover
It’s so curious to me that to think what we ought;
no matter where we find our body confined;
God speaks to us, in a language called thought;
he communicates all, straight to our mind.
Like fishes, we’re swimming in a consciousness ocean;
granted powers and freedom from
What is it that prompts me to dream;
what triggers make it seem devout?
What is it that causes something to seem,
to be something worth dreaming about?
We usually think dreams begin from within;
deep thoughts lingering on the mind;
but I doubt that’s where most dreams begin;
Peace is not merely an absence of war;
serenity may be a better name;
though an armistice is what some look for;
tranquility is much better to claim.
Peace is not simply an end to a fight;
it’s a life lived with deep love within;
with never a war
In the midst of the weeds at the end of my yard;
was a large yellow clump of flowers;
their brilliant color just seemed to bombard,
all the weeds with bright yellow showers.
I didn’t quite know just what they were;
but beautiful was certainly their name;
and all
I gazed at a stream that gently flowed by;
a wildflower, floating atop it’s surface;
prompting me to consider reasons why;
the reasons for life; it’s deeper purpose.
From where did that wildflower come;
and how did it catch my eye?
It’s existance in this life, nearly
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
