Opus

magic_mushrooms

coutesty of: intentblog.com

 

And there are words, often useless, often noise

Sometimes they are more

Small pieces of a history set free

Bit by bit they leave and take

Small shards of what I used to be

 

And I am less, yet I am somehow more for the loss

Fallen to the ground, or received

Parts of me are gone, never again to be found

If heard, if understood, they live on in another

As I become unbound

 

In a here that never was

Shared with what always was…

What will always be…as it was in the beginning

Is now…and always will be

More words spoken in the dark night

 

And I pray, though I am not a Christian

I meditate, though the East is but a dream

And the words rise

I release what is left of me

So little remains to be said

 

When they are done

There will be peace

Empty to accept

That I am

With nothing left to say.

 

 

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