It comes to mind
It forms from space
It changes fast, and doesn't last
unless... I make it hold a place.
It flies around
It forms a void
It seems alive, and wants to thrive
unless... I make it feel annoyed.
It changes shape
It forms a word
It follows feeling, senses reeling
unless... I make it strike a chord
It brings a face
It works with love
It connects the dots, inspiring thoughts
it's not unless... it's more... like a dove.
It settles down
It claims its' place
It travels wide, no need to hide
it spreads its' wings... it's Peace, it's Grace.
It works like magic
It feels my need
Don't think it's nought, as in just a thought
Peace can grow from the smallest seed.
Om Shanti, Eileen
Post a Comment