Waltz with Heaven

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 30, 2018

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Submitted: September 30, 2018

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The hand that pushes me onward still 

I ask myself, "whose hand is that?"
Whose hand does come to prod or pat
When I will not move or am crushed and flat 
Is it that spawn of time as man knows it
Creek of acts moving stones below it
Or some conscious effect that wills to stir
And pull strings of a reality to us a blur
Which, or both, who can truly say?
 
The first might be as a music score
One note is played, and the others follow
It writes itself with no thought to wallow
And once 'tis finished it would seem hollow
If each note had not followed the last
Each caused by effect of the one just passed
And yet the score is not its own 
It joins in with in-finite tones
Sometimes here it is elating song
Others there the clamor of violent throng 
And so the music of time is made. 
 
Of a living Force which knows itself
And thinks inward, "I choose to act"
'Tis hard to make a claim of fact
For ones some try others retract 
We know so little of this Force
Save it likely comes from some greater source
Or perhaps is that first melodic pitch
And so sets the rest by choosing which
Composer of man's great serenade. 
 
We find in ourselves impulse to move
Purpose in rhythm, meaning in dance,
Whether placed here by will or set by chance 
To determine which would be motionless trance 
For we know our part will have an end
And we may to the song our own art lend
Not by penning ourselves into the tune
But through timing our step not too late nor too soon
Waltzing with heaven 'til moon and stars fade. 


© Copyright 2018 S Nicholas. All rights reserved.

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