The Mother of All
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It comes to us naturally,
Passing easily through
All walls of resistance,
Dripping with beauty,
Clothing itself modestly
In the simplest of ways,
Never suspecting it is the sun,
The Mother of all,
The birth of everything,
Hiding its ferocity
With the control
Of a purring lion,
While its irresistible
Force of abandonment
Lurks beneath
The idle of a great engine.
There, it waits
For the measure of
Its next massive moment.
When it will release
An unfathomable power.
The one possession
Every soul
So longingly awaits:
The Truth
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2021
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