Crafted sorrows lying behind,
Forward on a holy trail,
Men with their numbers,
And women with foster fame,
All racing, maneuvering the echo,
The sky heavy of water,
Downpour and the light,
Clock struck one two and three,
None though set free,
Vigilant owl once in a night,
Bathed in wisdom,
Those shimmering mellow eyes,
Ravaging a fellow string,
A dreamy procession,
Clumsy naked bed strolls,
Dwindling shadows and mazes,
Steams and smokes all around,
Pastured and devouring being,
Escaping wriggles towards century…

Among all the others,
The leaves and arrivals,
Hounds lurking,
Dramas shaping,
“Hallow has it been,
Shallow had he seen,
The raves, the maps and treasures,
Unmeasured merciless journeys,
Now do you see?
Do you see the pain?
Costing you all that fame?
All the glory, shedding each day,
Casting away, withering away,
Dying every now and then,
Pieces falter, trends alter,
But would you see?
The heavenly sea,
Devilish numbers and endless matters,
A lighthouse banking
And shadows springing…”

To the eyes now,
Fixed in current,
Concentric godly muse,
Hazy golden orb,
Wisdom center occupied,
I see you knew!
You spoke to me,
The language of being,
A thought of seeing,
And in generous game
I stood there watching,
Over and around,
Owl and me, in one,
The master within,
Gradual eyes fading away,
Hello! Morning today!



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