Coming Winter G.T. (3)
But there’s a winter,
Of a splinter,
Of a sinner,
That must be removed,
Either by reprove,
Or lining up in love’s groove,
The winter will come,
Or the mind will learn,
To discern,
How splinters,
Enter,
Into the mind’s eye,
Like a sty,
Either way evil will end,
So that life may begin,
The gin,
Of the cotton,
Forgotten,
Of the first begotten,
Even the sottish,
Is of the begotten,
But his lying about love,
Just so he can be gov,
Will never be love,
From above,
For there is no substance,
Without Love’s faith,
Love makes it’s own cake,
Without which the mind would quake,
In it’s thoughts which are fake,
Without the cake,
Love has baked,
Even for the mind’s sake,
When humanity be,
It’s mind’s twiddle dee,
It can never be,
For it has no power,
To make,
Much less bake ,
A cake,
For it’s thoughts are fake,
Without love’s self, it quakes,
For love’s self is,
The cake, already baked,
From above of love!
8-17-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com
Copyright © John Freeman | Year Posted 2009
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