Dusting Yourself Off

Love is a collection of every affection ever known to humanity
Does love grow?
White is every color reflected on the spectrum
Does color grow?
There is whiter than white and a greater profundity than love
Is there more to what we have felt and seen?
Nature's genius unveils tiny surprises
As if we have not quite lived entirely
And our eyes take in routine mechanically
But the world has not yet been seen
And the world has not yet been heard
And the world has not yet been created
And the world spins around a wildly elated gas ball
Self-luminous expression teases the plants pulling towards sky stretching from Earth reaching for that primordial gasp that leaning towards freedom
We are humanity. Pulled from the rubble.
Why are we so angry? Pushed deep into an arid creativity,
Our thoughts are filled with second-hand smoke blazing from the pipe of the devil cascading poison into fragile minds
Deceased mental functions, a mind filled with darkness and distractions
The world has not yet been seen
Your world has not yet been created simmering in protoplasm
Echoing your name in every act of every choice
You are the designer cutting from the same cloth that was worn by your ancestors
You the designer who has not created any world of your own
And god reaches into the ash and pulls us from the rubble again and again
You with that same cloth dusting yourself off.