Poems about Knowledge
Restricted View
I can only see beauty, through my eyes;
such limits will never do;
the mind has been hiding its own surprise;
our sight has a restricted view.
While the eyes can be pointed here and there;
there are limits to what eyes can do;
a world of thought
Renaissance Of Evil
There’ve been past periods of renaissance;
where society peeled back the dark ages;
God’s love, established a new ambiance;
but, division is, now, occuring, in stages.
Renaissance is a sweeping change, or rebirth;
encompassing the landscape of reality;
a renaissance of evil has overlapped the
The Mind Reading Bee
He buzzed as he quickly circled the hive;
I nervously watched; fear held my hand;
almost as though he were trying to decide;
whether to sting me, or land.
My friend stood perched on his ladder;
propped to the eaves, he was cleaning;
swatting the bee
Saving Daylight
Every problem has its own solution
eventually it will all solve itself;
we must not allow thought pollution,
to tinker with what’s on the shelf.
Most of us prefer to live in daylight;
night is our time to sleep;
since the sun goes down, causing night;
we
Reconstructing
After wars; there’s a period of reconstruction;
for any kingdom is in constant conflict;
in the gap in-between; peace brings seduction;
and some leaders govern by edict.
What is it that makes one want to be king;
becoming in charge of one and all;
the one who decides
The Quandary
All of reality is an immense puzzle;
everything; a state of perplexity;
my mind; a state of constant befuddle;
for reality, indeed, is a quandary.
We think we see everything clearly,
but it’s all a construct of mind;
we each hold this world so dearly;
without having
The Badge Of Humility
A smart man, who, when asked, how he was doing;
replied, “Better than I deserve.”
Taking into account, how his wealth was accruing;
I was taken aback by his nerve.
Strangely, I took it as a unique form of boasting;
indicative of a prideful form of
Soul Agenda
All souls, created, have a purpose;
seldom does one, know what it is;
it’s usually hidden, neath the surface;
only the Master knows; it’s his.
A Great Artist, creates for a reason;
whether working in marble or oils;
applying mediums, according to season;
to each creator,
