Thursday, May 28, 2015

Misery

With misery confected,
that state of deep distress,
no hope is resurrected;
the angels won't confess.

Stale become the moments,
hard the heart within,
dry in shining torments;
life no longer sings.

That privilege of being,
immunity of soul,
the grace of inner seeing;
so does the Self unfold.




http://www.threewordwednesday.com/2015/05/3ww-week-no-429.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+ThreeWordWednesday+%28Three+Word+Wednesday.%29



 

4 comments:

  1. the grace of inner seeing;
    so does the Self unfold.

    There is an element of sub-conscious salvation in the inner self apparently that keeps things moving. Great lines Roslyn

    Hank

    ReplyDelete
  2. What a wise and beautiful poem..yes looking inside really does help you unfold

    ReplyDelete
  3. A beautiful and inspiring piece. Yet, I avoid looking inside; I'm afraid of what may unfold.

    ReplyDelete