Lotus

We come and go before we know what we came or went for
Even as in the shrouded silence there waits something more
A sad sense of disquietude descends upon the mind
To think about it too much or to fear what one may find
It hurts to find how small our voice how little is our say

But the lotus unfolds as if for the first time today
And we each have a lot to say if only we knew how
But we have been hurt and misunderstood by so many
We have trouble believing we create reality
Especially having hardly experienced any

Could you go to the kitchen and cook up a bunch for me
Or must I figure it out alone at night in my bed
In those prisoned paralytic hours by the telephone
Which (quite apart from creditors!) abandons me alone?
By the time I create reality I might be dead

I think I will just have to muddle through at least for now
Since while seeking to be wise I became a fool instead
And I never could create reality anyway
Being too polite and passive to strut about like God
Though God would never strut and just the thought of that seems odd

We come and go before we know what we came or went for
A sad sense of disquietude descends upon the mind
To think about it too much or to fear what one may find
Even as in the shrouded silence there waits something more
As the lotus unfolds as if for the first time today

+Steven Curtis Lance



Copyright MMVIII