With misery confected,
that state of deep distress,
no hope is resurrected;
the angels won't confess.
Stale become the moments,
hard the heart within,
dry in shining torments;
life no longer sings.
That privilege of being,
immunity of soul,
the grace of inner seeing;
so does the Self unfold.
http://www.threewordwednesday.com/2015/05/3ww-week-no-429.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+ThreeWordWednesday+%28Three+Word+Wednesday.%29
that state of deep distress,
no hope is resurrected;
the angels won't confess.
Stale become the moments,
hard the heart within,
dry in shining torments;
life no longer sings.
That privilege of being,
immunity of soul,
the grace of inner seeing;
so does the Self unfold.
http://www.threewordwednesday.com/2015/05/3ww-week-no-429.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+ThreeWordWednesday+%28Three+Word+Wednesday.%29
the grace of inner seeing;
ReplyDeleteso does the Self unfold.
There is an element of sub-conscious salvation in the inner self apparently that keeps things moving. Great lines Roslyn
Hank
What a wise and beautiful poem..yes looking inside really does help you unfold
ReplyDeleteIndeed. Nicely captured.
ReplyDeleteA beautiful and inspiring piece. Yet, I avoid looking inside; I'm afraid of what may unfold.
ReplyDelete