Estrangement
How is it we’re aware of self
And yet feel so estranged?
What is it that we sense we’ve lost
And hope we can regain?
Is not birth our beginning?
Is not our death the end?
If nothing comes from nothing
There must be an origin
And this must be eternal
Hence, can never terminate
For change is mere potential
Blooming from a latent state
If we come from that essence
Then we share identity
We be one with the cosmos
And adjoin Divinity
The mystery of the universe
And Self are both the same
The wonder of our sentience holds
The ever holy flame
We grapple with illusion
This mortal glass so dark
The truth of all reality
Reflects the inner spark
The Masterpiece
The master’s hand was steady
His eye would capture light
He always knew his subject
And breathed into it life
But every time he set to put
His masterpiece to canvas
Life would interrupt him
And would steal his time like bandits
He’d go to aid a friend in need
Or cheer a saddened heart
He’d work to support family
And teach his students art
He took the time to play with kids
To celebrate at weddings
To visit aging elders
And attend church baby blessings
He never seemed to find the time
To finish what he started
Some say he lacked ambition
Or was lazy and fool hearted
The day he died
Unfinished his famed masterpiece still stood
And yet his life reverberates
In countless acts of good
Did he waste his talents?
Was he vexed with tedium?
Or did his skill transcend the brush
And find a living medium?
