Swimming in seas of doubt, treading emotional distrust as flooding worldly rains deluge your soul, tides of fate force direction upon us, gasping to retain self-worth and a semblance of orientation, time drags with the seeming weight of a quarrelsome pachyderm pacing before our path, an overwhelming pageant of perceived failure ominously orbits around this helpless attitude, through these tight corridors of apparently ordained circumstance are led the hopes and dreams of accomplishment.


Poised within the fatal moment, looking neither outward nor inward, overwhelmed by feeling, absent of desire, fixed upon nothing, a fallow relic lying indifferent, churned to sour liquid, existing in a cemetery of contempt, numb to any pertaining relevance, the quiet beauty of love beckons to a willful soul wrangling to inflict life’s merit upon this final dispute, hand in hand the composer is witness to that which s\he has wrought, inscribed below the injured surface was the desperate whisper yearning to be heard, farewell.


The sun rose in my spirit today, as it does each morning, some days are gloomily overcast, others kind of a stormy gamble, a few spin in a foreboding whirlpool drawing life and limb toward the dark central vortex, then every so often there comes a gem, one which oozes with such splendid wonder that my heart is spun into a gambol, filled with courageous willing, a magnified glory of inclusiveness, this was such a day, one to gather cordial thoughts, to feel the generosity of life and give freely of its sensations, to gawk happily upon the outcome, to pursue goals with fearless and triumphant intention, and to stare intently into the fullness of the love presiding over the fragrant substance of all the precious ordinary glimpses of this moving joy of relativity for which my soul is a glutton.


Heal the World
Bruce Larson*Moore

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