My Words Pass Away


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I have gotten out of the habit of writing and therefore have gotten out of the habit of living a beautiful life.

Writing is the process whereby I squeeze Truth and Beauty from falsehood and ugly in my daily world.

Now there are overgrown weeds tangled over my trellis and the wisteria can not be seen.

How do I remove the ugly without damaging the beautiful?

My lenses have become scratchy and cracked and all that I see is distorted.

It’s a strange Picasso-world, full of jointed and pointy angles.

Until a different kaleidoscope appears. 

Scribbles in the sand that blow away in the wind reveal the finger of God on stone.

My words pass away, but His do not.

 

 

 

 

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