Nothing is as it seems Our eyes can see but the Rind of reality As mottled by moonbeams This surface which you see Is but the crust of me
While the real is what the Eye may never discern One must look deep to learn Things are but as in dreams
Which is not to say they do not exist Indeed they exist in multiple forms But only to say that one can resist The dullness which would dominate our days Trying to conform to commonday norms Like those who see things as they seem always
Your words do make sense when we look at the whole picture pertaining to our own lifes. We rarely offer or see the inner spirit of a person including our own selfs. Glimpses perhaps but they are all tempered by outside influences that we cannpt always control. Your write here is very interesting steve in that it does grasp the reality of life.
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
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Chrissy
Love Tinka
Fee
God Bless,
Lew