Poems about God
In The Fullness Of Time
Time is a most mysterious element;
directing the unfolding of reality;
only in a physical world is it relevant;
dreams are a subtle form of neutrality.
A song speaks of capturing time in a bottle;
as tho its in need of confinement;
our main goal
Clutter
My thoughts and life seem in disarray;
disorganization has become a brother;
my very world on the brink of decay;
I am living and swimming in clutter.
I have great respect for those, organized;
for they always seem to get things done;
but, I’m organization, compromised;
and, clutter
The New Leaf
I’m the new growth in the Master’s creation;
lost in the midst of his infinite reality;
not likely to cause a big splash, or sensation;
tho giving evidence of creation’s duality.
By myself, I’m an example of insignificance;
a solitary leaf, falling on
A Walk With The Master
My mind is taking it’s daily stroll;
wandering thru a forest of thought;
the mind, is the voice of the soul,
and, it spoke of heresies brought.
Reality is full of truths, to uncover;
but the river of time flows thin;
so much the
Overwhelmed
Sometimes I experience information overload;
and there’s little, within it, I understand;
my thoughts feel as though they’re set to implode;
no longer feeling my mind in command.
I feel lonely, unloved, unwanted, and depressed;
struggling to find my way each day;
keeping my thoughts hidden and
The Garden Path
I’m walking down a garden path;
with my vision, distracted below;
suddenly, I’m drawn to laugh;
as I imagine the drifting snow.
I find myself entrenched in two worlds;
wondering, which one is me;
one I think; or the illusion unfurled;
for that’s the
The Gift Of Loneliness
I’ve been given the gift of being alone;
obviously, not one, I’ve selected;
a family of one, hardly makes it a home;
no fellowship, inside, is detected.
“It’s not good for man to be alone,”
or, so I’ve been told, the Master
The Flood Of Feelings
Why do deep feelings flow out of control;
are we unable to stem their flow?
Can we not be master of our own soul?
Please tell me why it’s not so.
How is it that feelings even begin;
where is it they get their start?
