to be born again
cleansed of memory, instinct, bias…
to jump the gun,
like water falling out of shape
break away from the common stride
and walk the world anew
just pure thought

the sage smeared in ash
the soldier in defeat abashed
a child upon a puddle of mud
the city streets drunk on rain
a roaring engine is kicked to life
the rush of blood that throttle brings
yonder meadows growing wild
ancient rocks under the afternoon sun
the breeze is nimble to the touch
to hold the world in a grain of sand
countless worlds washed ashore
countless more on the ocean floor

a world without the love for god
a world that needs not right from wrong
a world that speeds, yet never found in haste
a world that knows its rhythm and bass
a world that sings its wishful dreams
where song and dance feeds the soul
a world where little is valued most
a world of plenty, to your taste

alas the restrain
the weight of being
an existential exile
that makes fickle pleasantries
of such visions fit for opiate trance,
starlight wrung out of the very cloth of the sky
or them elder poets who drew
verses from the stream
where society washed woes and perhaps pride

and the inner solace we seek
churned out of the wheel
a moment that impresses upon the next
into a generous resonance,
submerged in an ocean of consciousness
a body of imagination
where priceless pearls lay furlongs deep
on the surface the scum will weep


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