Nothing to See…

Shadows cast upon the waters, lakes and tributaries from dawns early light, bringing up the sun, to shine through the clouds drifting by, objective (not objectionable) formations in our skies… fearing the worst, some cry out, “the worst is yet to come…” pointillist sense differences in pointed-to, looking to complement the entire painting, dabbling many points needed to form an entire work of art, not single sightings, putting them all together completes their dabs upon the entire canvas, of our perceived realities…

Points, of opinions, fingers, lovers, haters, arguments, views, and perspectives, emotionally tying and ruling the conditioned vessels by planetary bodies casting their shadows… why do the holes keep multiplying like rabbits, while the diggers release their captures, then start another digging… pieces, not at-peace with Self, digging and dishing it out, pointing the ways, and as history shows, always coming up short…

Merely branches Dears, to pass your perceived time(s) away, looking and seeking for answers to quests locked up. From Prehistory to present, books, scriptures, teachings, and signs, all pointing from differing perspectives’ reality, to now ours. And what we will see and write down, for the future to hold or chase its leading down, when we scribe our history down, from our view…

The main branches and tributaries lead to similar pools anyway, to rest into. Just don’t understand why the bodies hold so tight to what they think they find, and why they possess it… isn’t possession taking-over another, and not doing your own work?

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