Zak Raz

The Nature Of My Kind

Time to meditate,
a place to resuscitate,
deep within this emptiness
the screaming silence that emanates,
each moment I procrastinate,
wasting love like a vagrant

Time to meditate,
a place to resuscitate,
the soul in hope of deliverance,
kept in the shadow of belligerence,
from the light of self severance

Time to sigh, a deep sigh of remembrance,
kept behind the lies, the lies of naked eyes,
and colorless images, images that hide,
the true nature of your kind,

The kind of souls sacrosanct,
beggars in need of His reverence,
unspoiled yet unkempt,
praying mercy yet withheld,
psychopaths and clairvoyants,

your time will come young pilgrim,
to leave all this noise behind,
to a place where your meditation,
reveals your true self and form,
and all that you hear, see, and feel
shall be masked in His endless magnificence.

Topic(s) of this poem: spiritual

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Poem Edited: Wednesday, May 7, 2014

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