I'll probably end up
wandering on the road
Driving anonymously
Forgotten,
No one checking in,
You being the only
People to know my whereabouts
Unless I decide you too
have stopped caring.

I am aged
Graying
Haggard
Never have been one to stop for
Even less so now.

Turn it around in the grass
it's summer, I'm getting' older
Sun's up hot who knows
If life does get better.
When will all my friends show up?
Today I'll stay level,
Just enjoy the normal,
No need for exceptional,
It's so flighty
And always flies away.

Why does Christ behave the way he behaves
through his messengers on Earth?
To send out his call vibrations
Attracting those who fly into his light
sending away those who become irritated by the sound?

Can't I have my Aum and Christ in my bowl?
Can't I have what was before and after?
Or was all that Satan's pulling,
leave my life behind,
give up what feels right,
spend a life, in fact, with no feeling.
There again, I fly away from the sound.

Believing, I believe, with a question mark.
My people's origins are suspect,
Christ in the cradle, then they ran from God poor Churches.
Most have not returned.
We huddle together reaching back for God
in a way our souls can find him,
or are we lost and wrong?

Who do we listen for?
Shall we play follow the leader until they turn in for the night,
closing the door on our mass,
then leave us to sleep against their door until they rise in their shining?

I'll not follow them,
I will follow you,
and when you lead me astray,
I will turn us back around.

He said,
"You're used to being the only intellectual in your circle of friends."
I am????

I stopped reading in 1999 or before.
I prefer for people to be smarter, most are.

To get my goat, to see my knee ****,
watching the response, then pass his judgment.
Failing, a complete fail.

He buried me amongst the dead
kicked the dust off his boots
left the house in it's peace
wandered in to the next open door
to spread the word.

Now I am buried,
being buried by the dead
You being the dead.

Do we love ourselves
more than God? (Call him/God Christ if you want to.
God is enough for me
with how a name gets thrown around
by those who defile the name
with abuses of their own design. Christ becomes in vain)

Are mystics justified, by their closeness to the divine,
their missions in life to show us God,
to rebuke us in each of their own given manner,
harsh or light as it might strike,
no matter the tear at our inner light they saw as dark.

"We use God's mighty weapons, not worldly weapons, to knock down the strongholds of human reasoning and to destroy false arguments." says the bible.

Who was arguing, asks I?

Om Shanti is Sanskrit for peace for the all human kind, peace for all living and non living beings, peace for the universe, peace for each and every things in this whole cosmic manifestation.

"Am I a non-believer for using a Hindu language, Mr. Mystic?" I ask.

Is God that absent from my inner mind?

What it must be like to be a man,
So stable and logical
A mind able to wrap it's meanderings
around machineries.

To be calm and unmovable
in the midst of a changing day.

Reading a newspaper,
Flip, flip
The page turns with a slow grain,
a fiber only to be found
Within the flesh, the blood, the breath of a man.

A good man, kind, with a good ear,
Quiet, with just enough chatter to awaken
Your spirit, your laughter, your curiosity.

A man who holds the answer simply because
It is the man's answer.

Our lives are but a collection of the hours we spent loving one another.

I love you all.