Poems (Rumell)/Imperfection
IMPERFECTION.
I seem to stand, in vast, vaulted chambers,That bespeaks of spiritual height.I hear the strains of deep organ music,Like a thousand bird songsters in flight.
I seem to breath and feel such a Presence,Of Strength and Power, as I hear,My heart seems purged of uncleanness,My soul knows no sense of Fear.
As I go deeper in this soul voicing,Some power, beckons me on and home;And I follow, in great rejoicing,With no regret for the way I have come!
I sense the vastness, the oneness of nature,God, good or the Infinite mind.I press breathlessly on, in rapture,Knowing, somewhere, I the answer will find!
I am conscious of my own imperfection,As I sense the presence, of the Infinite God.And I find each day, a resurrection,From the material path I have trod.
In this chamber of spiritual consciousness,Thro which nothing unclean, shall pass;We feel the need of the garment of righteousness,Which from their shoulders, many have cast.
All the world, it's imperfection is learning,When life is based on this material plane.And the thoughts of all men are turning,Seeking their spiritual selfhood again.