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Searing tug of bliss furrows, deep within our form burrows, akin to tilling the land by God's lustrous, loving hand. What's said is best left unsaid, when we're being by God led on life's path strewn with roses, while His touch, thorns disposes. With no agenda tabled, our lower mind's disabled and that that remains is bliss; where love and light entwined kiss. Cold heat, liquid light alive, cajoles nodes within to jive, which they do, as we renew sipping soma nectar dew. Ripped apart, put back again, benign bliss burns cleanse soul's stain, transforming us as the flame, which may be assigned no name. 30-November-2022

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022




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