"God must become an activity in our consciousness." Joel S. Goldsmith

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After every violence-
The thoughts percussion,
I lay in spiritless ambience;
My parts seem to under go separation
Unable to balance between the yes and nos-
I shut the lids off and-
Concentrating between the brows
In darkness I do land.
I march towards a faded spot
Catch the track and towards Him
Am carried by the beck
Until am misled by the trim-
Of beauty, mundane pleasures,
Love that ruled by passions,
Asserts, monetary treasures
And of contemporary fashion-
For the spontaneity I do lack
And even the self-effacement.
Again on reminder I am back
To search for the paranormal existence.
I climb the mountain,
Cross the valley, the river,
Bear the wind, the pain
And the body's shiver-.
A doubt, a deficiency of hope,
A bit of tiredness, and
Patience unable to cope
Again in darkness I do land.
The lids open-,"Next time,"
I promise,"I'll cross the barriers
And search the prime,"
If be mitigated those barriers.
But my eager desire for objects beautiful
Will lead me to the result tire-
That is, in his search I'm unsuccessful.