Lost in the good

Drowsing in the dreamy lore
of everything good and nothing sore,
I feel the heaven's sandy shore.
Dreary stretches of hellish earth,
long forgotten beneath the mirth,
I play like a child in the lap of faith.

Bathing in the cud of love,
and wondering most at deer and dove,
I ignore the odd toad shot with a bow.
Tricky, twisted, masked men,
dark in their den, leaders in open;
I see a smiling face, and hearts brighten.

Tumbling down the rabbit hole,
expecting to land in the wonderland,
I enjoy the ride screaming out my pure soul.
Lovely greens, blue sky, no haze,
put Alice's dream out of place;
I marvel at my discovery, in the light of god's grace.

Messing around the imaginary world,
with closed senses and a brain of old,
I smell no rat in the stories told.

Lost in the good. I am lost in the good.

Insipid is the life of a saint,
inside whom reality is faint;
I need to rip open my soul, and dip it in white paint.

Suddenly, through the ice
comes a blistering flame warm and nice;
I shudder, fearing the demon's seize.
Encircling me with fiery thoughts
of novelty and revolution free from clots,
I diminish in the presence of a might greater than the gods.

Thawed are my senses,
by the truth emanating from darkness;
I am blessed, not by the almighty, but a force less.
Mother! My mother is none other.
My earth, my soil, my cloud, tree -my brother;
I feel them all brush past together.

Lying on a moist patch of grass,
there, croaking toads, chirping crickets, butterfly -ballet lass,
I ignore the odd ape braying like an ass.
Looking down the ladder of growth,
steps of nature and the randomness of ruth,
I become a selfless being, ripped off the godly youth.

I see now that it is not only faces that smile.