An Infinite Mote
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A mote so small you can barely see,
placed on a blank canvas of infinity.
Turning aside seeking the source,
measuring the span, determining its course,
The side of the dot is no more than a line,
that goes on forever to the depths of time.
Looking much deeper upon the thread,
I now can see where angels have tread.
From nothing to all in the blink of an eye,
in the depths of my soul I begin to cry.
I have found at the heart of this tiny mote,
all that there is, all thats been wrote.
Joining again with all that is there,
feeling the force sought in my prayer.
All that I have since before time began,
is yours for the asking in the great, I AM.
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