Simple
Tasteless
At least that's what most people say
Not me, I see a mystery in the clearly unformed
Why else would the decay of worldly poison with its putrid stains
Elevate into purity with a breath of quivering soul
Its filth divorced from yoke to form a godly palace
Crystal
There is vacant space there
Some call it wonder
Speaking of reverence, how would one consider the response of living liquid, in all its forms
If its very essence were to be graced with a simple, tasteful, truth
I love you
YOU ARE READING
Water and the Pain We Put It Through
ŞiirA poem about water. Lately, I have been reflecting on the work Dr. Masaru Emoto, and the work he has done with water and how words, music, prayer, and environment all change water at a molecular level. I could ramble on-and-on about how Dr. Emoto's...
