i am home
my eyes close
yet i see the morn...
hear the singing bird
see it flying by...
the grass is wet...
the vines crawl
upon the walls
the trees feel the wind
and touch the sky
and sense the flow and joy
of all about....
there is no me...
there is no center...
nothing but
the whispering of all
as it passes by
imagination...
michael
my eyes close
yet i see the morn...
hear the singing bird
see it flying by...
the grass is wet...
the vines crawl
upon the walls
the trees feel the wind
and touch the sky
and sense the flow and joy
of all about....
there is no me...
there is no center...
nothing but
the whispering of all
as it passes by
imagination...
michael
i am a wisp of a thought
ReplyDeleteappearing on a finite screen
enjoying the sights and sounds
in this one moment....
the eternal moment of spirit
anne