Random Poem

Random Poem

The words won't flow
and the thoughts won't come
and nothing's right
and nothing's wrong

Shakespeare, he's a crook
and Frost a liar
Blake's a fraud
and Thoreau a charlatan

Nobody can take credit
for what the spirit does
and it's all just a wisp
a reflection of the divine

How can we take credit
for that which we didn't
do in the first place
in the last place

We're all in this creation game
together, working in this game
half of us won't wake up,
and the other half never went to sleep

What a game we play, lying
Cheating, stealing
Loving, giving
Healing

What a game we play