Very little to tell. In pathetic hope of impressing someone who may by chance offer a smidgen of validation. The words and things I reveal are stolen from times and voices spoken. Nothing New.

Thus, outside these walls of time and shade, I sink my spade. Seeking seed or shiny flake with which to stun this world with accolade rare. To be something within the nothing, recognized and special.

To be found outside the ordinary I must understand the seldom grasped. What hands have crafted each of us? What unique breath breathed into the nostril of man? What sovereign imprint found woven in each heart?

Though most deny, love finds us so often yearning. Thinking ourselves unworthy the whispers of kindness, hope and care. We were always there. Never listening for the only voices that mattered.

Even a pinch of solid ground. A yard, a foot on plot or field. May give each man the stone unmoved for building the dreams of everlasting. Outside myself I found my faith. For inside were the worries temporary.

I am stunned by how little I’ve needed. Knowing the counsel of kings. Each amazed at this common thinking man uncomely. Residing and defining their universe by rare beauty in a space uglied by the filth of time.

To the porch the peace draws near. Sipping in the shaded glory of Weeping Willow and Sycamore. Nothing proper, all fantastic. Remarkably unrecognizable, compared to that inside the known.

I Am is that which makes me special. All fight for recognition in the frenzied competition for love of many. When the One Love that fulfills any in creation is to be known by name in the Throne Room of our God.