My head tells me its the end
But the comforter signals its genesis
Words rushing around both dark and light
My soul and spirit accepts none
For none is true except the Scripture

We argue with voices and signals
But judges from feelings perspective
We sink in oceans and lakes of voices
"Pass left,don't pass left, its bosky
Pass right,don't pass right,its bad"
He is silent but speaking
This inward witness lives on signals
But we want garrulous voices
We love banging than slow motion
Oh man of sight

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Its a spiritual poem that it takes a bright head to understand because secrets are hidden in the lines .