Grains
Love, grains; we cultivate roots and tillage soil ever
to
cry, “Mercy.” More for reason, a lonely road, a
Samaritan’s
dream. I’ve yet to speak, where wires fuse
illumination. Watch to mimic
to avoid vagueness. Wander
deeply
into a soul’s reflection peering into eyes. Feel for
chills
a space in time where heritage is ancestors. Know
for
self an internal mirror ever to buff at red lights. Even
for
green learn to pause. Watch a feeling vague and ever
for
newness. Familiarity frightens; learn to pause and prep
for
wisdom. Study souls ever for roots to know for motives.
We’re
found this way, as hybrid children. Mine the best of
all
worlds, grinning and spinning through grief. If only
we
could, to prune a garden, taping petals; but more to
thought:
learn to pause, where bodhi alters
vision.
Concentrate!
It’s more a way, free of intention, ever to
drift.
Lie still to ponder no thought. More
to action:
compose
for freedom, driven with passion, ever to study.
Know
for friends, where some may go. We often try, to
plant
for vajra, a need to maintenance. So
watch for
speediness,
to know for Shuunyata, a world quite
empty.
