I have a gift for systematic thinking and pattern recognition. I delight in connecting the dots between the infinitely connected aspects of the universe. Everything reminds me of everything else. I am an Olympic figure-out-erer — rank amateur status only because nobody pays me to do it. It’s been quiet a wile since I have let go of large regions of reality as beyond my pay grade. I still have directions and attitudes, large patterns discerned through my living, going into these nether regions. Awe the same, there is a generous portion of faith that I apply to what might be, a ledged abysses. This poem is a meditation on the just a position of my faith and my persistent bewilderment with the foolishness helled in such an awesome whirled.
Oh My, Myopia
Who can
Fathom the mine of God
Sow wanting
Earth and heaven as won
And only Abel too fine
A tsunami of ether ore quest ins
Wading for the drum roll pleas
Snared a mist grays and just us
Scouring the grate faiths of Man kind
As caught up
In the bottomless
The works
Hour desperately wanting
Daze craven
Taking
An eternity
Knot seeing beyond
The end
Of our knows
Calculating net prophets
Who gets
The credit
Buy faith a loan
As if
God’s accounting
Can be
Under stood
How ever may be
At best
On our knees
As gun to ahead
Soully wanting
At last
God’s will
And testament
That braking point
A riches to rags store he
Wear that still, small voice
Is beyond herd
Over shadowing ether
Oar earthly site
If God is fore me
Who can stand agin
Awe questions bound
Just a posed
In the can
God create a spectacle
Sow big
That fools can see agin
Snared in that double blind
