Enchanted with prayer, mountain halls
Bejeweled by its people.
As light unveils their rocky spires,
Breathes in the dawn,
Combining force
Of two opposing powers—
Resilient mind and stone.
A binding of things equal.
They twist, they torque,
Erupt with fire fueled by brawn.
Solidified in shared desire
To bring a life to form.

The message was as legible
As orbits in astrophysics.
The syntax was true as
A mathematical equation,
Not calculated by accident or coincidence.
And precise, announcing,

HAPPY VALLEY NUDIST CAMP

Boldly, on a southern hillside,
In white-painted stones,
On Hywy #22,
On the crossroads between youth and age,
Doubt and confusion.

The stones are gone.
Picked over, or, rolled down the hillside.
And the Hywy is hardly used.
How. By accident or happenstance?
Or a higher intelligence orchestrated
The arrangement of the stone message.


And this happened outside our town.
On the road to London.

God is a poet,
And I, His masterpiece
Carefully crafted, beautifully made,
Shaped in His image,
A reflection of perfection, excellence and supremacy.

From the depths of silence, He spoke,
His words the brushstrokes of eternity,
With verses, He painted stars in the sky,
And through rhyme, oceans kissed the shores of existence.

His poetry is the foundation rhythm of creation,
Life itself a stanza of His infinite verse.
At the sound of His voice, commanded,
The void surrendered,
Light broke from darkness, and the cosmos took shape.

"Let there be," He declared—
And the sun rose in flames,
Mountains stood in reverence,
Rivers danced through valleys,
And the earth spun to the music of the spheres.

Brought to life by His breath,
His essence I carry,
A living testament to His boundless creative power
I am the art in the artist’s hands,
A spark from the divine flame.

He etched His name on my soul,
His spirit the ink that runs through my veins.
I am the masterpiece of a Master-Builder
More than clay, more than dust, more than flesh.

I am, that I am,
An echo of He who said,
"Let there be."
And so I am, and forever will be.

The universe oscillates between life and death,
Hanging in the equilibrium.
Two forces beyond infinity
Will always be creation and destruction.
Memories are dying,
Moments are being lived for the first time.
Galaxies are exploding into multicolours.
Stars are fading into oblivion,
their glow dimming.
Nebulae are rejuvenating,
painting galaxies upon galaxies.
The sun, ever present
is burning its own energy.
The edges of time
are constantly unfurling.
Our body's remains are transforming
into mud and soil.
A tree grows, its branches are withering.
Vines are creeping on tree bark,
The butterfly is taking its first flight.
A bird is flying for the last time.
Somewhere, there's a beep emanating from a hospital machine.
The line goes flat,
The loved ones are crying
Tears of grief.
In the same building,
A new born's life is being celebrated,
The loved ones are crying tears of joy.
In the blink of an eye,
Waves crash
and waves recede.
In the blink of an eye,
The circle of life is being completed.
In the same second,
Humanity has lived a thousand lifetimes.
In the same second,
Humanity has died a thousand lifetimes.
For us, a lifetime passes.
For the universe,
It's a small oscillation.
An ode to the infinite
balance between
lives and deaths,
Creation and Destruction.
The dances of life and death
collide painting countless
cycles of life.
I take a moment as I pay
my gratitude to the universe
for including my circle of life
in its vast canvas.

There was an old legendary myth about a Dear Little Sprout
One who watches over mortals since The Creation up until throughout
Lurking from within numerous gardens as we all turnabout
Protecting those he deems good despite most mortals having such doubt

Dear Little Sprout can tell who's good and evil
Even acknowledging those who he deems neutral
Guiding Good and Punishing Evil as individuals
Giving advice for Neutral and hearing out their personal visual

Little did they know that the Dear Little Sprout has a big secret
One that he considers as the most deepest
That being he's more than just a symbolic fairy tale
But rather he's a Young Nature God with a hopeful prevail

He took the form a green-haired teenage boy
Surrounded by various flowers that's filled with so much joy
Roses, Daisies, Sunflowers, and many more he enjoys
The Dear Little Sprout, Herb, is always seen with such adorable poise

Sweet Little Herb shall spread happiness and love
For the sake of guiding and protecting everyone like a kind dove
Holding the Light of Creation in the form of the flower
With his love from those he's close to fills him with passionate power

Together we bring love like the roses in the garden
As we shine on similar to the daisies that was pardoned
We shall be as strong as the sunflowers from the proverb
The Dear Little Sprout, Our Sweet Little Herb