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Poem

The tiny hand that crabs your little finger,
birth of passage for the individual thinker.
Personality through intuitive developing spirit,
like the artist becomes art itself and it’s lyrics.
To see the spirit of modesty is beauty itself,
veiled by nature to cover the greater excels.
Himself most modest but intimate with those,
who practice the scales of cosmic force.
That ethos is like some genuine art,
added with a life responding heart.
Evidence of prophecy from divine tongue,
personality and interpretation unsung.
The wise asks the question into the mirror,
the free heart opens the channel of nearer.
Knowing the ego is born from the ashes of false,
then matter is a state of spirit, throwing some salt.
Words that come through light from source of soul,
more precious than all jewels, by being whole.

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