The mind
is a thousand times
more dangerous
than the most lethal gun

Is there perfect love?
If there were
in what way
would it be served?

Most don't live
restless they are
from one place
to another
they skip-
what's before them
the beauty and wonder
they miss
their anxieties
only grow more deep

where's the smile
the comfort and peace
of just being oneself
instead of such
being lost
or stripped?

Time doesn't
patience keep
what we've forfeited
we can't retrieve
and our life
inexorably
ends in grief.

I've hardly
finished with myself
it's just a beginning
in self-swimming
in the sea of being
a mere pausing
and reflecting
as time is passing
in its myriad rhyming

I'm not ashamed
of my past failing
only propelled
inexorably
into more searching

hoping
ere the last evening
of time
I'd have been
in my desired homing.

The day is your place
and time of worship
no church or temple
is ever in need

every moment
or a single deed
is an enough prayer
as you stand on your feet

kind words
to someone you meet
lending a helping hand
somewhere in the street

in that lone silence
is your sincerest worship
chronicled in your own heart
forever to cherish and keep.

Poetry is the sublime distillation
of words and thought
coming together
in perfection

An unreasonable world this is
as people seldom look beyond themselves
all out they are for self-gratification
worthy perspectives they sadly miss

over time,  their hearts are calcified
beauty and wonder they dismiss
human connectedness is dismally lost
their loneliness sets in as thick as the darkest mist