In your language, what is your possession?
Nothing’s permanent, but your confession.
That you confess to your God and yourself,
And that is plain, let your spirits drain,
Lying in the name of God, refrain, refrain.

You can’t fear if you never stood witness,
It becomes clear, depends on your fitness,
An inescapable phenomena that surrounds,
The deeper you look, the more it astounds.

The one that’s above the Christ, Holy ghost,
The one that knows our soul, the Holy most.

I see in your existence, the greatness high,
In frozen moments your clarity is vibrant,
In stillness of time, grip on my soul is tightened,
Even without love, the connection is heightened.

All I can tell it, is that you are an existence,
And one of a kind, in a strange omniscience,
You are with thousands at the same moment,
No one can see you, no taste, color, or scent.

To imagine you is like a phantom in the air,
Where I thought I won’t find you, I found you there,
Only my lack of ability can fail me to feel you,
One’s own truthfulness can truly reveal you.

The holy ghost only comes to see how you are,
The previous minute is gone and now you are,
Like a spirit flowing through all those alive,
Comes to see us so we know we will arrive.

“At any point your life is journey of arrival,
And how to tell you, the arrival is survival,
You stand on the knowledge that’s known,
Imagine what you are if knowledge is just,
A gown.”

“Take it off and what are you, if not my ghost?
You may know the world well, in the universe,
You are but lost.”

Those are the words of the ghost I derived,
How from nothingness to words I arrived.