In God We Rust
We are cool of heart and our intent is poor. The tension between the poles is weak, the head lolls, the belly rumbles, the intersection is clogged; we cannot move mountains without a nadir or a zenith.
Be brave! Be bold! Face the helter-skelter, endure the loop-da-loop, skate the figure 8.
When do we remember the dead as souls? Without their hair-nets and false teeth?
What cries man is able to produce are going to respect God? Instead of mimicing His Word with prattle and chatter, like jackdaws and chimps.
How are our beetles a complement to His?
How is us standing under His universe helping Him to understand Himself?
What fool on the hill hoping to love all of the view doesn't get his yet, however big he thinks he is?
What if it all adds up to nada, nihil, zero, zilch? Since we are counting behind the numbers, as good as backwards, counting nothing in, only out like the year, towards the end of this rolled up tape God videoed for us.
Shhhhhh, in a silent way blow your horn; rest assured trust is down to fine tuning, whatever the corrosion to your fenders, bonnet, boot and over-all finish. The rhythm and the blues and the soul and the funk aren't waiting for anything else. Why are you?
Photo by The Nigmatic on Unsplash
Very interesting writing here. I love the rhythm. :)
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Enjoying the flow, truth in chimps and such perfectly placing us in a motivational, shhhsshhed horn-blowing.
I want to go away from all of the waiting, carried away in the rhythm's of soul!