The beauty of a single drop of water.
The tiny, perfect, concaved teardrop.
The entire spectrum shining through in all its unconceivable majesty, the glory of creation itself.
The wonder of human existence.
A thought here, a tale there.
Our knowledge passed through the ages from wise lips to ears desiring to hear.
I think, therefore I am.
I know that I think, therefore I am more.
The immeasurable dream of love.
A fairytale for all, reality for many.
Such wonder and infinite complexity in a single emotion,
Known only by those who have felt it.
The certainty of death.
Mourning as they leave us.
We tell ourselves they are better off where they are,
But secretly we wonder:
Why can’t we really believe that?
And the child, crying.
A beautiful teardrop falling from her face, so perfect,
Its heartbroken features yet display the glory of God’s greatest achievement,
Or most costly whim,
As she cries for the one she loved so.
Asking,
‘Where has he gone?’
And through your own tears,
A single word, choked through the agony of loss.
Heaven.
Its power over man incredible,
Its dominion in the skies absolute.
A dream for all.
Reality for any?
It is known only by those who have felt it,
Yet those who have not cling to it with all their might.
Who can say why?
It is of no relevance to too many.
