Thought into Being
I shave my face.
The stubble there
carries me to
the scratch of life.
Just simple things:
to touch and taste,
to know I live.
For what? To hope?
Was life my choice?
Unasked, it came,
answered no plan
of mine; but His?
I live, not through
theology.
My senses sense
His will in all.
My life, His thought,
brought to being
as the cosmos
sang its creative hymn of joy.
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