Not idle words, nor random throws into the game,
I believe some things have meaning.
How sad to think they don’t.
There are times they help us make some sense of pain,
sometimes we actually recognize
we hurt because we grow.
But usually we are lost in the haphazardness
and drown inside our days,
and what might be for the best, we are too weak,
we hide in deep dark places, so afraid
to allow someone to take a flash-light peek
inside our caves.
To breathe within creation is to be another breath.
Over and under, surrounding us is trust
and yet how easily we forget;
that love was the catalyst of our big bang
that sent us streaming into
this thing we call existence, that is still forming yet.
I choose to think, the writer writes
and shows a sincere interest in my life.
I see scenes and plans, along the highway
markers I will pass,
and yes, I too am the creator, and so realize
the great responsibility of that.
Not random, not a game, not without sense or meaning;
I refuse to bow to that sneering cynicism of the day.
We have risen up from tar, and sometimes we take flight
and if we make a few bad judgements, then we choose to fix them
because that too is part of life.
Love is the key to being free, and to sublime surrender it invites.
May 7th 2013