In the beginning there was a long, silent walk
It was accompanied by the gentle sighing of the worldly trees.
In our dawn meditations
Desolate nests were formed.
When we walked to birth,
Friendly forebodings chuckled
It is a dull duty, they said
Your birth and life.
Not really the moment of death,
Or the fleeting glimpse of birth,
But the unhurried anguish of the in-between
Interminable bludgeoning of drudgery.
Your creation wildly divergent,
You sorrows incomplete, you will spend your time
With an unbearable awareness of the before
A silent fear of the after, the soul in regular torment.
In the cries of labor are inherent the futility of tommorows,
The invisible tyranny of time, the sheer boredom of pleasure.
Why then, are you giving up
to Birth?
But I walked on, into the long walk
Tired of knowing,
Ready for the dark,
The beautiful dark of being.
It was accompanied by the gentle sighing of the worldly trees.
In our dawn meditations
Desolate nests were formed.
When we walked to birth,
Friendly forebodings chuckled
It is a dull duty, they said
Your birth and life.
Not really the moment of death,
Or the fleeting glimpse of birth,
But the unhurried anguish of the in-between
Interminable bludgeoning of drudgery.
Your creation wildly divergent,
You sorrows incomplete, you will spend your time
With an unbearable awareness of the before
A silent fear of the after, the soul in regular torment.
In the cries of labor are inherent the futility of tommorows,
The invisible tyranny of time, the sheer boredom of pleasure.
Why then, are you giving up
to Birth?
But I walked on, into the long walk
Tired of knowing,
Ready for the dark,
The beautiful dark of being.
1 comment:
The next time I read a blog, I hope that it doesnt disappoint me as much as this one. I mean, I know it was my choice to read, but I actually thought youd have something interesting to say. All I hear is a bunch of whining about something that you could fix if you werent too busy looking for attention.
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