A Flute Echoes Us
A light within that has always been without
As well, grows, while life's vultures ever circle,
Below. Why has it always been that human beings
Who be more so, have had to be exiles in
Their own lands? This time, more than any other
Before, beckons all life to be most vividly that.
As long as I can, walking the road in the world,
Which is the unwinding path within,
Will enlighten; as it does-
These pieces of a dream deferred.
Listening to a song sung and un, without words and
Nature's sing me, I'm naught, but, it's echo and
The mountain which does not rise as that eagle's
Talon leaves a rock perched in its eyre, I,
At the top. Singing, this voiceless rock that isn't,
Resounds a universe's song, which leaving as
A talon did, is felt sky bound, for, it ever plays on.
Now, a galactic wind weaves me through that
Stormless storm, on this unspeck of dust, to here.
Being filled with this songs silences,
I'm reminded of where our mundane life and
The unseen are one. Walking that balance we glean
That living is the grist of our individual mills, and
Discover that inner unfolding is unending.
As well, life is the grist of realities' mill.
So, we've come to pass and learn, as well as teach,
Through life on that wheel, what it is to be,
From within and without.
Ergo, ourselves are the question we always ask,
And the answer we never find. For, when
You put your finger on it, it's no longer there.
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