Poems about Reality
Everything, in life, comes with a cost;
for nothing in life is free;
something’s gained; something’s lost;
that’s how things happen to be.
I’ve heard it said, the best things are free;
obviously refering to love and affection;
and though it seems that’s true; you
Nothing in the universe is static;
all, perpetually changing;
reality, itself, is consistently erratic
all of being, rearranging;
Eternal stability comes thru motion;
a thought, needs a place to go;
similar to the waves from an ocean;
thoughts require, an ebb and flow.
We think of time, as standing still;
…Cymbals clash, signaling the birth;
as the symphony, called life, begins;
the orchestra hovered, above the earth;
and the heavenly music descends.
The thoughts of life were sounded above;
its fragrant scents, descended below;
Eden was the garden of power and love;
earth; where man was destined to go.
The
…Eternity is a circular energy path;
for only a circle has no ending;
all you need do, is follow the math;
it keeps coming back to beginning.
Imagine it all, an invisible cloud;
comprised of all information.
All thoughts, are, within it, allowed;
from all eternity’s foundation.
The universe
…We think we face an exterior entity;
an outside world by reality defined;
one specifically crafted by divinity;
a work of the Master’s creative mind.
Have we forgotten what we were told;
that we’re made in the Master’s image;
do memories grow dim as we grow old;
What, in a name, suggests significance;
setting individuals apart;
all are one, implies we’re ubiquitous;
snowflakes; come from one heart.
Why give each snowflake a name;
tho each is uniquely made;
after all; they all are the same;
differences, merely charade.
Angels are words, given, living beings;
did they
We oft speak of where legs will carry;
as tho physical motion has relevance;
we endlesslly talk, till we grow wary;
tho usually lacking in eloquence.
We frequentlly say what’s on our mind;
as tho the mind has a physical place;
for it’s by location, all things are
Are dreams the illusions of the minds;
or a form of, within mind, travels;
do they reflect how thought unwinds;
or consciousness unravels?
Do we pinch, to see if we’re dreaming;
is that the test to see what’s real;
or is consciousness, itself, scheming;
what we think, is
