Bottomless Buckets Poem by Eric Cockrell

we cannot be delivered from,
what we continually deliver our selves to!
one cannot be healed of the disease,
he does not acknowledge having...
we cannot escape the grasp
of our mortal feeding egos...
until we break the glass,
and see the sky beyond,
and taste it for ourselves.
the primitive man discovering fire,
the first living beings that moved
from sea to land...
the mountains the day after,
the waters divided,
the snail, the spider, the moss covered stone...
are all a part of who we are...
the murderers, thieves, explorers,
native peoples, wolves, wild horses....
stars being born, worlds dying,
the darkness of forever night,
the first dawn, and the last...
the saints, the tyrants, martyrs,
starving children, soldiers killing and being killed...
all a part of who we are, and we of them!
all thoughts conceived by thoughts,
all desires born by desires....
creation merely the repetition
of waves lapping forever shores...
love, the journey of lifetimes interwoven...
souls contained by souls,
held in bottomless buckets!