Monday, April 18, 2011

Channeled Poem, The Post of Measurement, 4-18-2011

I calculate all that
I need to stay with,
the everyday inch up
the post of pro quid.
Never more higher
on this scale can one,
be as the game is played
'til your time's done.
There are no green leaves
upon this stoic post,
unlike the living trees
vitality's lost,
in the evermore demanding,
and always to judge,
the freedom of one's soul
is apt to begrudge,
each increment's fruits,
each moment's design,
is not for the spending
but for the divine.

No comments:

Post a Comment