Resurrecting dawn
Soul’s creative urge springs forth from our heart,
with childlike intent to sing a love song,
which however no sooner does so start,
wayward ego sounds an ominous gong,
stating head, not heart, is where we belong,
thus strangling the rhythm before it is born,
so what could have been, falls to ego’s scorn
but be this as it may, we have our way,
invoking God’s grace, that bliss may adorn,
throb of innocence that turns night to day.
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