Birds made of sky
... slice effortlessly through the ether -
no cleaving upon their approach,
no melding in their wake,
surrounded by silence thoroughly,
no residue nor resistance, birds made of sky.
To surrender must be to move
through existence like that - plowing through
time's flow and yet, somehow, adrift upon it;
no mechanics of survival; coming
from nowhere; being taken no place.
I spruce up surrender in my timidity -
display it in the most flattering light.
Human beings need that - ever measuring,
thinking in terms of loss and gain,
getting from here to there, but surrender,
apparently, must be undertaken
for its own sake; for truth's sake,
whatever the cost or outcome
because it is truth, the only truth
when nothing else but the truth will do.
O child of God, enter the flow of time
to escape the flow of time.