The Rose








There is something written in my heart,
something fine, delicate, woven by master hand,
something that feels when touched
from a breath of aliveness,
opens up and makes the search
after what it is.

Whoes  master hand is the one who wove it
who can paint and draw so finely,
who created this being
and why and what did he think?
The Creator was it out of himself,
who was looking for his peers.

To the joy of himself and of his own ones,
he cherishes and cares for it forever.
What it is wants to give away,
it is searched and goes on the search
and its nature is in its own kind.
The rose is it, that's the point
why he created it.

A.M. Hosta


Popular posts from this blog

Who knows the Son, knows the Father

DMSO and MMS inactivate Corona Virus

A Test (Teaching) in Humility