The needle-clock that pokes holes in the mind,
Whereby a pan of half-remembered past
Is sieved, and thus from memory confined,
Faileth against some fragments sticking fast.
The gripsack-brain is packed with brittle tinder,
For memories once lit do warm the soul.
Whenas old age shall dwindle blaze to cinder,
Though 'twill be hard to recollect them whole,
Being too truncated by the racing sword
Of time, so that they might even feel untrue,
We nonetheless will remain meet to ford
The dreamy stream of earlier days anew.
Though many memories will leave our sight,
Yet in the rearguard some won't take their flight.
So, If
Delighted Joy
Is Somehow
Undeserved;
***
Whereby Suffering
Is An Obligation,
An Unending Quest
To Ease All
Suffering...
***
See How
It All Spins...
***
Reiterating...
Refreshing...
***
With Each Its Own
In-Un-Intention...
***
(Pause.)
-Gray Squirrel
08-13-2026
This tide of evoking
Of its fear-chilled onrush
Eves, o'ertaken by.
Teared wreck am whereby.
That which blows, sun's last gasp
From out: regret; regret.
Met, prized as too late
True love. Its bright fate.
Life without a meaning is meaning less
Giving it a meaning may be hard,
But it is the only way to continue living
No matter how hard it may be
Try to define your life
Ask yourself who you really are?
Why are you here alive in Earth?
There is no end in a Universe
But a human being’s life does come to an end
Meaning we are all going to die
Death is a process whereby the soul and body separate
As you are set to begin another journey
In the spiritual world as a spirit
It is said spirits do not die or get attacked
Nor feel emotions
That simply proves we suffer the most as human beings
Than as spirits
Even though we have to decide,
Whether to go to Hell or Heaven
Life is full of amazing things,
Exciting moments
Yet it can change liking nothing happened
There is only thing common in life
It is seen in the tears,
We release every time we get hurt
And tears of joy!
What do I like about my life?
an easy answer now from me.
The first, to be a loving wife
then, next in line my children three.
Grandchildren to, are my delight
good friends I also love to see.
My health is without too much strife
I’m really where I want to be.
There is not much that I regret
somethings, If I could rearrange.
Then plans of mine I may have met
whereby my attitude could change.
Not be so ridged and so set
because I found it all so strange.
However, looking back, you bet
I’d be more open to exchange.
I hope my future years are long
because, I still have much to do.
I hope my heath will still stay strong,
and my old mind remains sharp too.
I hope to hear the birdies song
that greets each morning when brand new.
I hope our world corrects what’s wrong
and peace across our earth comes true.
Will you please be so kind as to explain why,
gentlemen of your ilk or, much as you,
on first meeting, soon after greeting,
or within a conversation or two,
to those like me, or such as I,
feel the need, to bring up to speed,
and are compelled to dwell on and extol,
their personal proclivities, propensities,
predilections, predispositions,
inclinations and tendencies?
Come what may, we are who we are, it is what it is,
whereby, we have no say and, by all means,
it's preordained, hereditary, chance or happenstance,
and, as does diarrhoea, runs in the genes.
For, as to the preferences of others,
I must admit, be aware, I don't care one little bit,
and for their penchants, not a lot, in fact, nary a single jot,
altho', I wish they wouldn't swish, as they look silly doing it.
But, in the end, they may tend to extend,
or rise to the occasion,
and participate in the bringing of
brotherly love to those of their persuasion.
Unlike a Spurgeon, I by dull words unfold
The limits of my Sarah's love for me,
But I realize that the rot and stink and mold
Are all within my mind, beneath my See.
There is no other person who can love
For me. It is my duty and my joy.
It is the Truth that True Love is made of
It is the difference of man from a boy.
I am no counter of the counterfeits
That weigh love by the dram of sweet words said,
But rather, I am one who from above
Receives the gifts whereby he bakes his bread.
Into the practical and humble things
I'll pour my Constancy and give love wings.
Covered by grace, blessed with faith, anointed with favour
Yah is all I need to get through the day
Bless me, Yah, as I seek thee, make me your prologue
While I am building faith, hold on to me
When I am afraid, come down and stay near me
Bear my burdens and cover my scars
Wipe my tears and reassure me that you have me
Let my spirit dance in your glory and light
Lead me to your sanctuary and enlarge my territory, help me
to avoid temptation as I come your way
Holy Father, send down peace to rejuvenate me
Set my feet upon higher grounds, whereby my enemies cannot reach me
Yah cover me, take full control
Forsake me not in this season or world
Cast me not away, bring me back when I stray
Be my strength, salvation and light
Father, who shall I be afraid of when you are my Shepherd and shield
You are the reason I am alive and have survived
In your presence, I am safe
Yah is my refuge, fortress, armour and strong tower in whom I trust.
He's a flirt with his anxieties,
Collecting tauted nerves.
She's a pen who haunts his remedies,
And with these words she serves.
He'll romanticize the painful,
And unto pleasure, gain.
Where a page was turned to tar,
With her baneful, poisoned stain.
All that glitters looks amiss,
While they write together sin.
Whereby lovers part by kiss,
Muses part by apitoxin.
She gracefully entered the room
whereby the sounds in all the world stayed
for a moment, her sweet perfume,
a sensorial hand grenade,
now tossed capriciously among
the men, naive, so very young.
Delusion manifests as a thought form,
which we mistakenly take to be ours,
whereby arises a need to conform
but the taste of the fruit over time sours,
with ego seeking magical powers.
Though dreams within dreams in this way replay,
detached from outcomes, the pure of heart play.
The moonlight lights the corners of a cloud!
And thus enflames that thin, celestial shroud!
What words have we, to match the heavens proud?
O, savage is this sickly sight!
This sordid scene upon the night!
Whereby a cloud, with all its might,
Doth strive with rows of teeth to bite
The ankle off the moon.
The scene the same, yet here my tune.
O, moody moon of my desire,
I think thy presence draws me higher!
Thy veil across thy lovely face
Doth lift my heart, and make it race!
Thy beauty bound in mystery,
I strain my eyes to better see.
I do not strain my eyes to see!
I drink and visions come to me.
Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy
Parent presents herself as distressed, concerned, loving
Major caregiver to child who appears perpetually sickly
Child’s symptoms are exaggerated
Worse yet, sometimes falsified by mother
She might contaminate the urine samples
Child gets better in hospital until mommy dearest visits
What is happening?
Nurses are the first to suspect
Doctors do not want to think this way
Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy
A mental illness whereby a caregiver
Starves or poisons child
Sadly, many of them are health professionals
Wanting others to consider them saviors
As they save their child once again from the cliff of death
God, the Father, had a plan all along,
from creation to the virgin birth.
Jesus, the Son, agreed to right the wrong
that Adam and Eve started on earth.
Human Jesus came down to bridge the gap
that separates man from his Maker.
Obedience, the first plank on His lap
to a sin-ridden earth as Caretaker.
Knowing God's plan was for Him to die,
He showed the world that He is the Way.
Only thru Jesus can we span heaven's sky
with payment for sin on that great judgment day.
Forgiveness, the last plank, Jesus supplied
with His blood offered freely on the cross.
These two planks of wood form the way whereby
but the rest of the wood - would be our choice.
Would we accept and believe His offer?
Would we confess sin to gain right of passage?
Would we believe Jesus our eternal Savior?
Would we by "doing good" cross over on His bridge?
A kingdom is an ancient place
Whereby secrecy is a norm
The doors have ears
A kingdom is a home
Whereby safety is imperative
The windows are closed
It is that lingering feeling,
As you hear the sound of the sea
Speaks in tongues
Know that you have arrived
As you feel the wind
Release that air
Know that you have obtained
It is that mystery,
A kingdom is a word
Whereby analyses the culture
The gates are closed
A kingdom is a round table
Whereby it Modifies the tale
It is that lingering feeling.
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