When all it is is to know how to be alive
We seek the feeling by doing stuff
The act of breathing's just not enough.
The act for pleasure is fun game
Until it turns to ball and chain.
There is another way to being
The trouble is it has been hidden.
If only we could melt and yield
To the spontaneous process of that which is.
We could dissolve the pain and anguish
That stems from dull and dimmed awareness.
The day will come when there will be
The process of life sought so tirelessly.
And then these words will have no weight
Until that moment, they are what I have.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Dearest Peeps! I welcome your comments, so please feel free to start a conversation :)