Why do I make hard that which employs simple request or reason? Must I bash each street light to adjust its brilliance? Is there cause to beat the well behaved? At what point do we stop viewing God in our own understanding, simply acknowledging Him knowing that He will direct a path for me that I neither cut nor possessed direction?

Must we be the men whose every problem resembles nail or duty of demolition? Do we rend each rose, crush each seed and puncture canvass to show our mastery blindness in our rage? What of dimples? Simply admired and enjoyed must we fill them with plaster or caulking to make smooth that which was topographically perfect?

Psychedelically panoramic oft polluted vision in extirpation of forest quietude. When is the garden good enough that each refuses to lay hand or touch upon it? What child comes into the world for the purpose of analysis and inspection? Seals of approval and supremacy delighting not in the perfection of life’s pleasure but of man’s measure?

These days, especially possibly being the last of few remaining do not demand our comprehension but stand in reflection of all possibility as the art that a Sovereign offers with or without blemish. Chasing tails and pursuing achievable perfection forgets delight in difference and the absolute mystery of why He chose to leave it out of each of us.