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  • nothing else

    Those children who hid
    in those corners from each other,
    who played those invisible games
    I imagine there's still
    something moving of them,
    in them, and that such feeling
    will never truly quit, even if
    they both forget
    everything they ever shared.
    We each have this
    ability to show what we are,
    and we instinctively know
    how such things are holy to us.
    More holy to share in it,
    that spirit beyond bars,
    Willingness itself, and charity,
    Ready with all they have
    to build the worlds that keep,
    even as the eyelids shut
    and the gardens age
    without their conversation.

    The curiousity of play
    within the child's frame,
    A propensity to explore
    Inner spiritual nature.

    The supernal realms
    We come to create with God.


    Those children who hid
    Themselves and found the other,
    They who let the skin crack,
    and fall from their back,
    As they never truly saw it
    And how such beautiful things
    Would eventually come...
    Of all that play, and love,
    and nothing else to do.

  • #2
    I've a propensity for the wonder of child-like reasoning. So often beauty and wisdom marry there.


    • #3
      Another fine piece that has true feeling running through it. Thank you