Theopathy

Evening memory, whisper from your sweet flower sight, as birds float delight. World beauty, sow some sweet simple spring season, sky and sun without end. Things combine And seem to make little sense When the great Beauty is bold Singing its own song intense... Sensations and seasons are best When sowed in the simplicity Of the pureness of poetry. The dancing desert does delight In the epiphanic voice, Crying in the wilderness Calling in the heart Pleading in the mind, and Claiming in the soul. Beauty is the mysterious memory Of what once was... and, by grace, Shall someday return. Known, unknown, Wild, free, deep and true... Nature speaks of Gives hints toward, and Causes contemplation for What we know we barely know And yet craving after Do not understand... Natures cryptic call Seizes the soul and hungers the heart Of all who willingly hear, and quietly listen To the Voice Crying, crying, and crying tears of longing Throughout our own wilderness trek... Sunrises to find, softly speak visions in light, as butterflies show freedom of flight. Universe magnanimous, moons and stars brilliant to send, deep divine eternal hope from the final true, Friend.