Oddly shaped are the raindrops as freely they fall.
Must I do something with each before it can rest
On the surface now built up? Where is my control?
This life game is a journey, but what is the goal?
If I play with the right folk, I won’t fail the test,
Yet that doesn’t prevent me from dropping the ball.

My mind is a container. Its volume of thought
Can’t exist without big holes of dead empty space.
If by staying high minded I’m able to change
How each thought takes the surface – if I can arrange
Them before they cannot be – I’m running whose race?
This game is at its most basic fatally fraught.

I create my reality, damn it to hell!
It should not be a death sentence but awesome news.
My desires and beliefs must be in alignment.
If they’re not then this lifetime is one I’ll resent.
Whatever it may come to, I do get to choose
Every thought that I think and where each one should dwell.

How things might come together is not my business
Nor should it be of any concern. Only why
Should fill up the container. Good things will in turn
Fall in place rather nicely. God’s grace I discern
Showering down upon me like rain from the sky.
All I need do is trust in the simple process.