What a Poem Could Tell

Nowhere could be a place to always go,

To be with the sweet reflections

Of all we call gold

And of the love of memory

That can only bewilder.

The inner chambers of thought

Are the final resting place

For those that bore her children,

That come neither black nor white

Nor with many wishes to cry;

But to blow the songs of truth

That accompany the dark stars

To where time stops

And space makes do

With what the Creator could hold.

The journey to the inner world

Is the same to the outer world.

This is what the mystic knows

Before the traveller sets sail

To never return nor make the pace

Just like the calm mystic has always known.

Author’s Note: They say politics is a dirty game. Politicians are divided into those that see it as a deterrent or as an excuse.

I think the battle of the sexes would probably be the last war.

The world is hypocritical about world peace.

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What we fight for and what fights against us are usually two sides of the same coin that makes us better persons.

They say fight for love, but that counts for nothing compared to how love fights for us.

The universe is vast in space and condensed in thought. So think ever slightly of it and unravel the world.

Until next time,

I will be here.

– M. V. Echa



M. V. Echa

M. V. Echa

My message is the universe, my truth is the universe, and this blog contains all you need to know about the universe, from the true nature of reality to the long-sought unity of the cosmos — which is the big picture!