Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: It takes its origin from emotions recollected in tranquility.
William Wordsworth (1770-1850).
The story of my life spark
Bright like the diamonds in the sky
In that juncture of imposed penance
Life dawned on me in its fullness
The gracious Majesty’s touch
Life's granted the awesome wonder
Am I obsessed?
In the midst of doubt and limbo
Abeyance of soul search and emptiness
A song was heard thundering into a timeless void
Of man lost to self and none
A quest to fulfillment time-stamped like a dodo
These revered revelations revealed
Of a man who dared tread the sands of time
Am I obsessed?
Am I obsessed or deity struck
A mortal being created in his Immortal likeness
As He posited of me being a god
Yet like a man to die empty
As the book of times memorial quotes
Psalmist psalms in chapter 82 verses 6
Of men deposed off the realms on high
To their sinful selfish profanity
I chose asceticism to revelry
Am I obsessed?
Born lost to stooge or to sleuth
Tempered by the hot flickering dance of time
Devoured of reason to serve not
Rise son the spoken word whispered to the soul
Above the gaiety and charms of men
For your call and time is here
To servitude and emancipation of men
The call the only way to rise this I heard
I am obsessed with this I know now?
I am obsessed to give my all
I am obsessed to serve now when I can
I am obsessed to fail not in my quest
I am obsessed with rising to the significance
For mortal men seek only success
Taken forth and back never to care
Of the pain and devious tramp on men
I am truly obsessed with not dying an empty soul
I am obsessed with decree deep down to the soul
Gazed to search the fountain flow of life
Live Life Imagine Discover the Awe of Awesome Wonders.