What is here
What is in this moment?
The birds, cockatoos I think
A whole flock of them, screeching and carrying on in bits and pieces
The wind, it flows the ocean of cloud above, the clouds move at such a pace
Where as if the same perceptual speed was mimicked by a person that was close
It would be creepy
Thus the clouds creep
The trees beckon the morning
A well tended garden of a friend, a sanctuary, filled with self
A place to be away when it all gets too much
They all just want to have fun
Have fun, eat, drink, die
This seems to be it
Is anyone really any better off for having a better head start in this system of money
The bamboo is looking a bit drab
What's caused this malfunction
The seats sit beside me, barstools around a high table as though they are expecting someone
Or as though they are people themselves, independent of people to sit on them
Thus self aware seats
They sit in a corner, possibly never to be sat on but they look conscious to me
I dreamed of the most wondeful sexual fantasy
And I'm starting to believe maybe I'm possessed
I had a cult leader tell me thiis once
I wasn't sure then if it was information meant to pry me to his purposes
As I am not sure now,
But this man is dead
There is no more purpose to pry towards, self interest can no longer be the key motivator
If the man is dead
How long will we be around for
...
The light changes outside
The clouds with a different glow have found their way in front of the sun
It will change again very soon
I love this tumultuous weather
It suits my temperament, helps me to think straight
There is no need for your defences here next to the River dear prince
The river is a place of community and sharing
The wind hurls the small loose branches of a weeping peppermint back and forth like the hair of a rag doll
Letting the flow come
Letting the flow go
Letting the flow enter the soul
Everyone is within
Everyone is without
Nothing is holy
Nothing is right
Everything is one thing
And then the rain it pours.
Each droplet like a lake
And then it stops.
Then the sun comes,
then the morning is heralded for a brief moment
Then the weather proceeds with its tumult.
Then the wind roars and claims ownership of the realm of sound
Yes, the wind is king
Because with it, we can hear no more
All hail the wind,
All hail the king
I love tumultuous weather
I love to observe the ebbs and the flows.
No comments:
Post a Comment