This isn't it; this is reflections of light on a side view mirror,
Shadows of swaying trees on the wall,
Echoes of the full orchestra's song;
Ringing like reverb in an empty hall.
I have seen tall buildings & obelisks & pillars
Stretch out to touch it but they don't,
And I've seen us replicas & minor actors
Think our roles are leading as we flaunt.
Foolish is the one who claims to have the wisdom
For this is just an image & we know nothing at all,
A sage is but a quester & doesn't have the answer;
All what he's read is chapters, but the story is a whole.
There's nothing I can do now but be still & look above,
And stare quietly at His painting that I long to be part of.
But then aren't we part of that painting already?
ReplyDeleteWe're part of the motion picture, and this shall come to an end. I'm longing to be part of the still painting, the one that will dwell eternally.
ReplyDeletehmm..
ReplyDelete'all what he's read is chapters'...
I love your faith in the story being whole ! ..
:)).
I sometimes long for the exact opposite.. not to be part of any painting.. but the way you put it.. and if we're looking above.. yes.. it would be quite beautiful/meaningful.. harmonious and divine.. to be part of the painting you see above.
kisses to you bird. :)
Kisses to you to, leafie :)
ReplyDelete