Saturday, August 29, 2015

Rainy day

Rainy day

To live forever, our selves desire.
Yet, mortality is illusion,

per the Masters,
as are all such objects -

inherently erroneous;
the one true deficiency

being the blot of our desiring self,
its erasure all we lack

in the quest from nowhere to nowhere,
our timeless, motionless passage

an entertainment, a false relief
from God's idle, eternal limbo;

a brief distraction
during a rainy day, shut-in afternoon.

O child of God, whimsicality and pretense
run the gamut of all existence.

1 comment:

  1. As I'm reading this, I note it is raining outside. Beautiful poem.

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