Sometimes I think beautiful thoughts
in words of story and prose and poem
I think these come from the ether
and yet they appear at times
competing with Presence
I am seen each time
and that one seen can fall away
Just scales shedding thickly
now leaving only tender almost like raw flesh
gleaming with translucent light
Tell me a future as you have spoken this past
Are we not always right here and right now?
Can we not correct this time error soon?
This is how I know is it not the mind -
the mind would have this hand print different words
Yet spirit whooshes through it all
blowing over every opposition
because I promised