If I was a writer

I would write the word of wisdom

I would pen the song of peace

I would ring the bell of freedom

That brings us to our knees

I would write the poem of forever

Hold it high above the ground

I would point the way to secrets

I know them all and where they’re found

 

There is no grace in knowing

From mouths that say they know

There is no point in showing

From pointing hands the way to go

 

I am not one of those people

But from the lot of them

I am not the hand that’s pointing

Or the writer with the pen

 

I am not the truth for seekers

Who want to follow me or tweet

I am but that hollow vessel

Of the One who Spirit feeds

 

There is no patterned karma

That I care to use MY way

There’s only rightful dharma

That keeps me standing here today

 

I am not the one who’s speaking

But still my voice resounds

I am not the only writer

Nor the best one in the crowd

 

Yet the word I pen is fruitful

Because the ink is drawn with love

There is only One solution

It is He who signs above

 

There is a word He chooses

‘‘Twas from the start until the end

I don’t care for all the others

Aum! Good God! Amen!

 

So in the simple chemistry

Of physics I comply

And reach for words within me

From that sacred spiritual eye

 

No tunnel is more evasive

No ‘darkness’ more profound

Than the golden light within me

That frees this underground

 

No castle do I live in

Still the kingdom I do seek

Let me bow my head with knees bent

Let me weep and clean Your feet

 

Forgive me! I’m no beggar!

Though for you I truly plead

No need for earthly pleasure

No fat to feed a greed

 

All I want is bluebells

That hang from Mother’s golden crown

To rest my head within them

While Spirit’s blooming round

 

There is no place to lay my head

For nowhere I belong

I am not fit for misfit

I am my Father’s son

 

Open now the chorus

Angels ringing in pure voice

If there is a choosing

I AM A YOGI

That’s my choice.