The last time that I looked, they were searching ancient texts;
And was seriously averse to many modern sects.
They treated all my children, like the grey and cloudy sky,
Dowsing them with great big fires and leaving them to die.
They were very zealous, resentful and lacklustre;
And so could not see the harvest, of the ploughing farmer.
I emerged from sweet celestial Love, like a burning flame,
Yet they hindered many innocents, acting in My name.
When I last looked, they were slating union-harmony.
But isn’t fusion crucial, for a brilliant symphony?
To roar like thunder in the clouds; and in the emerald sky,
Lighting up the gran-de-ur, of the firmament on high.
The last time that I looked, they spoke of diff-er-ent Paths,
Was indifferent to the nightingales, singing in their Hearts.
The voice of Conscience whispered: “O little children, Listen!”
They were too busy playing, in their weird self-made prison.
The last time that I looked, they were searching sacred books;
But could not see the beauty, in the vibrant running brooks.
Manatita, 25th June, 2016. ©Copyrighted.
~ Awakening The Inner Light ~
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All glory to the natural wonders of His Love,
Below, inside; within; above.
Sing out His sacred sanctity,
His Love He gives to you and me." -Manatita
© 2016 manatita44
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