That divine voice

Truth is stillness

So I sleep

Just slumbering life

Forever dreaming

Walking these roads

Like children playing in empty streets

All but an echoe of a presenting joy

That's always full never empty

How I love to love these strange dancing fleshy flowers of the morning

These human shapes of unfolding cosmic grace

Fill my heart space always with warming

How can one be melancholic with such divine impressions

That press and form

soul and mind sculpting but never interrupting

Much to pleasing to the eyes

This strange life of mine

To be anything but divine voices

A poem by 

Liam Herdman