Similar message to the last post, but without the blatant Heathen bit and in poetry.
Our World
This world of ours,
With its ceaseless beauty
And its constant cruelty,
Where endless love and lust,
And pain, and rage,
And honour, justice, trust,
And wisdom and madness,
And joy and fear and sadness
All dance hand in hand,
In coils without end,
Is not the work of a
Distant, perfect God,
To whom we are in thrall,
But of the spirit in us all.
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