little Man, made of mud. Silent searcher, made undone.
a creature kept
in perfect conditions
still with a will of Its own
carries out Its priorities
in spite of the way It was shown.
and in time It will fall into,
as if by random chance,
a slipstream of progression-
a forward-moving dance
and oh, that poor small creature
with prosperity in Its midst
will come to see Itself as able
to justify why It exists.
that creature kept
so far from truth or trouble
wandering away from pain
accidentally finds a master
to serve as It lives out its days
so It stands out at a crossroads
to witness the unfolding of time
marking Its movement by sacrifices,
and the gray hairs and the lines
as the bright colors and music
fade into dullness.
and It senses the blackness
standing there staring
waiting for It to arrive.
and It's no longer a carnival
try as It might It can find no fun
but the conditions still, are perfect
to redeem the creature of mud.
the perspective must be guided,
vertically and outward.
Not from within, but out from above
from the place the creature started.
Drawn to the plan that was intended,
Through the Son that incarnated,
and His love which never faded,
by the mercy that was fated,
from the time that time began.
What does a creature imply?
Where will you go when you die?