REALITY

Many often speak of the shadow of death;
but exactly what does it mean?
The soul will never experience last breath;
for death is but an illusive dream.

Only the body, both breathes and dies;
the soul, itself, is made of energy.
A soul cannot die; even should it try;

Do you know for certain that others exist;
perhaps, they’re only thoughts on the mind;
consider those senses of which you consist;
is it by them, that reality’s defined?

Neither of your eyes really see anything;
they only allow light to flow in;
So, just what is it,

How is it that thought becomes
a picture upon the mind:
words transformed to pictures;
with thoughts all left behind?

How do nothing but simple words,
fashion, brand new illusions?
Such is more than patently absurd;
pictures are thought’s conclusions.

The mind is not a picture show;
but it

I set out to create a perfect day;
for such is always my goal;
follow my Lord in every way;
for such is meant as my role.

But mind can be a cantankerous crank;
especially, in the midst of depression;
all of the positive thoughts go blank;
and the mind

Seems I’m spending my life; just waiting;
nothing at all, is going on;
spinning my wheels, pontificating;
all night, till break of dawn.

My words no longer carry much weight;
though my body certainly does;
no more do I take part in debate;
my words, no longer bring pause.

Why must we look over our shoulder;
looking back at yesterday?
We’ve all become a little bit older;
and now has become today.

Why is there an allure to the past;
when Summer’s already arrived;
sorrows and failures never last;
and, so far, we have survived.

Why linger

Certainty has very little patience;
in hesitance’s warm embrace;
there’s little time for reticence;
as tyranny stares in your face.

Frustration’s found at its height;
as much of majority is wrong;
mediocrity’s seldom found right;
and majority just goes along.

Great comfort is oft acquired;
even