Seems this is out of my hands.
Why? I do not understand.
So very little I can do.
How liberating, if that was true.
But it’s not true, I know down deep.
There are things I always keep.
Whether I want or want them not.
It’s what I have, it’s what I got.
I have the power to decide,
At certain times on this ride.
I can assign meaning thereto,
Irrespective of its truth.
That is all I do hold here.
That is all. But to be clear,
These, my friends, are no small things.
Some would say they’re everything.
With decision and with meaning,
It matters not what’s intervening.
It matters not if there is pain.
Or if I should fail again.
It matters not if I succeed,
Or if I sin or feel a need.
These are mere materials,
To blend with this ethereal,
To influence an intervening.
With my decision and my meaning.
These are the means of our kind,
As progeny of the Divine.
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