The Tower of Song

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To find truth without faith,
love and hope,
like trying to climb Mt. Everest
naked, without oxygen, or even a rope.
Not saying it can’t be done,
but man, sounding like a clang !
Or have I found that love thang ?
Try as you might to sight the heavens,
like pointing a microscope
to the skies
from the dire mire basement
in which your standing.
Far better, in the light,
seeing the world
through heaven’s eyes.
Holy Mindfulness is the place
where we all belong.
As Leonard Cohen, he’s moving on
to the Tower of Song.

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The Grand Artisan

God, the ultimate Artist.
The supreme Scientist.
The intimate Presence, within,
and throughout this existence.
Regenesis … poetry in motion.
Life, as an artistic documentary?
Seen through all the agony
and the ecstasy,
the triumph and the tragedy?
Or are we rats in a laboratory?
Are we but particles
within the part and parcel
of subatomic intricacy?
Only a quark apart …
a small part of the mechanical?
Speaking relativity,
where is the Glory?
A perpetual quantum
crunching the numbers
in some mindless continuum.
Is that the universal story?

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