Bullion Grey Poems

My heroes are farmers without names,
Nuns and monks without possessions;
Laborers and ordinary individuals,
That endure life’s sufferings and fates.
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Starting with God’s sunrise, I feel awe and wonder
a Divine perspective that flows, through my heart first
and then my emotions, prayerfully I hold my perspective
as if I hold precious flowers.
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I am flying my kite,
arouse my heart to higher heights.
My isosceles triangular thought,
and circular rotating life,
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Such is the fate of a speck in the youniverse,
to float along the wave of existence, without plan or knowing.
Yet part of the mass, still small of the dust,
this speck travels a long living view.
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Words, symbols of thought,
dragged from the heart and soul
to the cold reality of ink, paper and eye.
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Does sky, cloud or wind think about us, you & me?
If so, where does sky, cloud or wind think? Does sky know it is sky?
What concerns the sky?
What cloud floats in doubt?
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Since Time doesn't exist, you can't waste it.
So....
Time can never be 'lost'.
Time can't be saved.
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I will not survive this experience
called Life, without dying;
so I will live this Life,
as each moment arriving.
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I once met God in a country store.
I knew it was God.....I asked if I was worthy to go to heaven.
God's reply?
'Worthy is not what I look for, thats a human idea,
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No one invited me to my heart,
no one told me how to go,
didn't hear it in a song or seminar,
or read it in a poem;
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