Always, Now

.

.

.

In The Days of Your

(  Passed and Present  )

.

.

.

how vast your Horizon’s Canvas, adorned by a Palette of infinite Skies,

where All that U will,  is with U still,  while your Purpose,

      holds a Brush, called The Reason Why . . .

.

.

.

.

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down through the Pages

 

 

 

One Voice

 

 

 

all the words ever spoken in the name of Wisdom or Enlightenment,

have yet to crumble these Walls of Our collective disHarmony,

     nor carry Us forth into the embrace of The Reason Why . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

with The Thread, of The Reason Why

 

 

 

The Loom,  of So

 

 

 The Weaver,

 of

The Web of Pearls,

and

The Cloak of Simplicity,

and

      The Tapestry,  of God’s Heart . . .

 

 

 

 

from . . . sumWhere deep,  and hard to get to . . .