Of all things to write about, the great expanse;
Of love, the senses, of war and romance,
There’s landscapes and histories, physical prowess and art;
Food different around the globe and similarities of the heart.
~ ~ ~
But think of it from a newborn’s point of view;
or a shut-in, unable to see something new,
When the world becomes closed in and small;
No books or television relieves the color of the wall.
~ ~ ~
When one climbs in bed to lay down at night;
One shuts the bright eyelids like one turns out the light,
Memories come, and hidden fears, the insecurities mean;
Repetitive processing, body aches, and irritants glean.
~ ~ ~
One sees the great expanse in a differing way;
One realizes the plans made don’t always hold sway,
Dreams and hopes make demands and refuse rest;
All the things we can’t do fills a valley of impossibleness.
~ ~ ~
We’re a newborn again, unable to move;
Depressed we don’t own and convinced we can’t prove,
Open our eyes the room is blue forms and thick shade;
Shut them and see the expanse of Sentient’s cave.
~ ~ ~
To a newborn there’s peace, it isn’t her fault;
A puppy dog just wants to protect and chase balls,
Here in the dark of an unfulfilled mind;
Vastness of storage connects to a glimpse of divine.
~ ~ ~
This is the place that God is needed most;
Our lifetime ends in coma- and there’s the heavenly host,
At the end of the valley, expansive road pointing all the time;
Blue skies of Heaven, say, ‘Come child, I’m yours and You’re Mine’.
