I have written little poetry for a year or so but I feel things begin to return. The following lines are a somewhat mystical view of creation.
Beginning is a blossoming bud, the Spirit’s breath, the moment all moments begin. Eddies spin in the flood, billowing, drifting, breathing, brooding over shifting uncertain waves, Gathering, from grain to garden, from daisies to chains to garlands, as echoes roll into time, Images of beauty and truth; of a stream that flows forever from a Source, Other than this world, New Earth from eternal Heaven; from the spring of being, from breathing, brooding, creating Spirit: New, nothing into everything, moving over the waves more than beauty of bud and blossom. Imagined in that moment and known, that Allos, that other, that is both hope and home; Named, I AM, sharing our nature, Good, glowing, gathering all creation Into One.
Notes on meanings: Continue reading