|
***
By whose will
Are we still
Sometimes agitated
Or tranquil & elated
The currents
To which sentient
Follow a divine rhythm
Reflected in the prism
Of form
We may yet choose
Without excuse
Ceasing to weigh or size
Simply vaporise
Singing the bliss tune
To external vagaries immune
Ceasing to resist
Being to become a bliss mist
Eternal
***
__________________
The Self has no attribute
|