Here is that purpose thing once again
arriving from beyond the reach of what
I ought to do as if somewhere in the future
there will be a perfect version of me
running and not moving.
Hope and fear come from the same place
arising not from any cherished sense of self
but from the space of seeing the present
disappear into an unknown future
where all time ceases to exist.
I have heard that it was possible on rainy days
to be able to lift a thought on angel wings
straight to the heavens beyond the storms
stirring all from the complacent dreams
which surround us from being holy.
A Thread You Follow 