A Spoon in My Pot

A great race to de-termine meaning.
Why so urgent, for such intervening?

Why is this not, left each to his own?
Why must this be, prescribed and not shown?

Waves in the ocean, a spoon in my pot,
Is this what is, or is it what’s not?

Waves that do toss and throw me off center.
Susceptive for saviors and others to enter.

My head, my way, my meaning, my thought.
Sold for some peace, for A song it’s bought.

Forgetting of that, which do cause such seas.
Before I fall down, brought to my knees.

It’s weather, its’ currents, it’s wind and it’s tides.
A view of these things makes falseness subside.

Why are these things hid-den from my view?
And with these things hidden, what can I do?

Stay fast, stand firm, do not walk the line?
While loved ones are periled and threatened so fine?

These times how they test, times how they roll,
Time to see one as part of the whole.

© 2020 TheRememberings Ltd.

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