Poetry

The Loom

By: James Aitchison

Photo by Maksim Goncharenok on Pexels.com

The world is my loom,
The wheel spins,
The Voice speaks.
You do not have to wait
until death.
Only man makes complexities to
confuse the real and the eternal.
Heed not the Self,
come forward and I,
with foreknowledge,
will guide you.
Know then your allotted tasks,
and in each life you will retain
some measure of me, until in turn
every new being achieves release and
lives within me and spins the wheel.

                              

Categories: Poetry

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