Flow of Thought

The words that we speak
are the things we create.
I've never said the same thing twice.

What an Image.
To think we are just a reflection,
as He hovers over the waters.

What is perceived has being,
and being never ceases to be.
Erasers are lies:
the words are still there.
Fresh paint never leaves,
just smears.

So while some of us paint slowly,
with bold studied strokes in jewel tones,
and others dips dots,
thousands of pastels on the tips of their brushes,
it all is.
And shall be.

Good God.