Poem -

What are we?

Are we but mouldering meat
and brittle bones?
our sinblack lives one long deceit;
are we here at all?
or merely a figment
of an imagination,
a fleeting moment
in a passing dream;
or are we the blessed seed
of a God divine,
wandering the highways
and the byways
searching for the truth,
empty vessels of creation
waiting for the wine.


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Edward Williams

Just a lovely read makes me feel so small compared to time and existance