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Poem

On Watch

If it hurts, then it hurts.
If it is hard, it is so.
And if no sunlight bursts,
To an essay I go.

Why should I dream up imaginary notions?
Why should I summon duality's motions?
Why should I need to know I am in flow,
Or need to be me once again as I go?

Or make myself well when the bad comes in view,
Thus softly caressing the ego there too.
Or wear myself out through ironic force and care,
When effort can leave on a breath into air.

§

All those who struggle do so only
Because they never want to struggle again...
So what if you feel you are stuck on the spot!
It is not as though any fire burns hot.

§

We are mistaken to think there is an absolute to attain,
Thus lost in illusion, we torment ourselves again.

The Cardboard Man feels wonderfully at peace.
He evolves as his self satisfaction increases,
And so does the lie that he favors and keeps.

What does he never do, in truth and by right?
Unravel the head's illusion by living through chest,
Ignoring the Forest while watching a concept.

What perceives the stillness is none other than flow,
And from silence, at once, lets its vanity go.

§

What sees the flaw living in you,
If not all the filth living in me?
What can accept beauty in ugly as true,
Once thought has been felled and set free?

Who would be feeling dissonance,
While bearing inward substance?
Or what can judge while standing still,
When it is unconscious of its will?

If it hurts, let it hurt.
If it is hard, let it die.
Why must it always be otherwise than...?
When it can be humble, and that is all.