Perhaps I babble
As a burbling brook
On an early spring morn,
When lingering ice,
Refreshed by Aeolus
Sings in harmony
With the symphony
Of water
Lazily
Tumbling
Over
Every
Cobble
God is there,
God is everywhere.
But care is in order
When embracing
Spinoza’s pantheon
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Where God may live:
In the fangs of a lioness
Piercing the throat
Of a baby gazelle;
In the jaws of a wolf
Snapping the necks
Of his own weaker pups;
In a soldier killing
Another soldier
Trying to kill him.
In this vain attempt
To express the inexpressible;
To name the Tao
God is everywhere, so they say.
Perhaps I babble.
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