Unevolved
How still is our stillness,
if thoughts forms yet intrude,
such ripples scarring soul,
so little wonder then,
our presence feels not whole?
How still is our stillness,
if as yet we don’t know,
who we really are,
mistaken we’re this form,
from truth drifted afar?
How still is our stillness,
if we’re fearful in dreams,
haunted by ghosts conjured,
with yearning for God’s touch,
in heart yet to be stirred?
How still is our stillness,
if we’ve failed to forgive
and heart’s full of regret,
thus remaining trapped in
ego’s serpentine net?
Copyright © Unseeking Seeker | Year Posted 2024
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