“My Presence Ominous”

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“My Presence Ominous”

My presence ominous is the Ôm in me and not the audience to what I am;
Not I, but all mankind stakes this same claim. Prophets have declared the same
When once Their cup of endless Holy Names is drained
Because They love what He has made and write it freely in the sand.
That I am not what I seem proves meaningless within the vain
And easy afterthought that vanity within is altered in the end
By every creature known to me. I am blown by every wind
And feel the breath of everyone I’ve known. I mirror that without that aims,
That feels, that sees, that barely hears the cacophony withal.
Syllables of thought from random scenes and primitive perceptions
Bond evenly in every waking dream, and sleeping memory. Keen receptions
Held together by the same cement are cosmic answers to all such calls
From without and I am here with you—though fractured—present all the same.
If faithfully you know who He is and always was and ever will be,
at once you do and will know who I am and that with you I’ll remain.

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2 responses to ““My Presence Ominous”

  1. There must be a fundamental sounding, a primogenitor-word that connects all other words, contains all other words, unites all other words… perhaps the Creator should have been called the Ringmaster… in this circus of human consciousness.

    • As usual, your comment indicates a knowledge both of the truth as well as whatever I had attempted to express within this poem. He is, amongst other things, “the Ringmaster….”

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