Wednesday, November 5, 2008
All shines as mounted tombs. Only to be lost with time and
GOD. Just dust made into an image of the imagination and
heart. To find futility with the fragile essence of time. The
incessant movement of another creation.
Piled high the status of another image. Only to be thrown
down with time. To stand silent in a naked night. To scream
of the inner frustrations of man's vain life. A life of created
lusts, which corrupt the soul. Twisted by the idol time, into
some perversion we do not really know. Yet, we call it reality.
Edifices for the eye to behold. A thrusting forth of our thoughts
upon the stage of life. A life futile and frustrated, with the wear of
life and the broken dream. Plans gone amiss in the confusion
of a complex life. Made more cumbersome by the invented lusts
of the heart and mind.. Only sleep a prelude, the state called death.
We play the frustrated time in the small epoch of life. That small
place of light between two infinities, which pulsate with time.
Dust mounted up and molded by GODS children, into the dreams
of mortal reality. Again, only to crumble with the vibrations of
the infinity. A calling which, never ceases in all of creation. There
is no rest, only the order of GOD, to make a path in the molded
confusion. To shine like a road in the swamps, forests and
expanses of lands and place. To follow that road, keeps us from
the forest of the night.
copyright 2004 POEWHIT
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