One of those relaxing poems


An Ocean of Sky

Let man not project himself in the light which makes him appear most dark.
Rather let him paint his portrait in the image of that which he chooses to be.

For what is man but an unborn child in the womb of Mother Earth.
He knows life only when he has lost it, and at that point, he does not live.

How cruel it is one wonders, when letting one's mind drift out of him or rather letting himself drift into his mind.

How cruel it is that Nature had shaped us so.

Life should be called a vast collision of all things unrelated.
A game of things unexpected and unknown.
A combination of swimming and flying at the same time.

One is left bemused and unaware, dependent on any ripple of waves, any gust of wind to determine his fate.

Such goes man the hybrid, Mother Nature's Winged Son With Fins.
Such a daunting task ahead of him, knowing where he possibly fits in.




Poetry by Jack R. Schade
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Written on 2009-07-15 at 16:00

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normalil
Your poem is a meditation. Puts me in mind of Kahlil Gibran. Much enjoyed, thankyou.
2009-07-15