...

From the dawn of time,

As we were told it

There was good and bad

And since

It has been wreaking havoc

​

Say the word

And the word becomes -

This the law of creation

​

Even though

In its natural form

Every light

Has its shadow

​

But as it goes

The guise around town

Is that I'm the whore

Playing part to the devil's score

​

Did I not tempt you

To turn from grace

Then shame on me

And demonize the human race

​

Now you keep

your dirt in a jar

And hide your shadow

seemingly far

​

That only metastasize

Out of proportion

Into some monster

Looking for an outlet ...

So we see it.

​

I don't deny

The grim look in our eyes

Is as real as it seems to be

​

But the truth of creation

Is the thing about motion

This version keeps moving

Until a change of direction

​

And truth may just be

An eradication

Of the words that we claimed

And the words we used to shame

Believing there was a stone to throw

​

All the while

Beneath the rubble

There's a version of us

An opaline vision

Quiet and subtle

of Being

with enduring provision

...

Sundays come and Sundays go

But I'll turn and return

to the Sundays I know

"Though the rocks might melt

and the sea may burn"...

In a winter storm,

I'll fly around this dusty town

With you

​

Bracing for another commotion

And ripping the damaged seam right open

​

Leave the paradise we think should be

Salvage the loss

Of you and me

To make and re-make

A town that is free

Of sinners and saints

And words that define

What it is I see

​

Until all that's left

Is what simply Be

Gloriously

...

"Each for the joy of creating,

and each, in His separate star,

Shall paint the Thing as She sees It

for the God of Things as They are!" - Rudyard Kipling, from his poem "When Earth's Last Picture is Painted"

Musings on Heaven (a place of tireless creation).