We are lost in the curving jungle of life
Cast recklessly upon its fiery green shores
Listening to the silent thunder of the breathing Earth
Our minds are fluttering butterflies,
Alighting here, there, resting only long enough to look beautiful
Somewhere in this pregnant spring haze lies a question
Drifting slowly towards a waking sky
Like lazy sap amidst dreamless roots
No friend of time, these senses –
Forgotten amidst their own temptation
We are laughed at, and envied, by the falling rain
Doomed in its endless cycle
So we don’t ask, even though the question
Is evinced by every tiptoeing ant,
Whispered by the minutest gliding raindrop,
Full of the harmonic balance between Heaven
And Earth, creation and destruction
See these hands, these walls, these bastard children of creative ennui,
They ply the weak soil of self in search of the seed, the question
The one slim thread leading to the sky
Keep the quest, I say
Let us build habits of awareness
To calmly penetrate the senses, the mind
Pray, work, and trust –
For we are not who we think we are