sacred are the clean teeth sacred the cleaning and the cleaner sacred are the wiped lips sacred the wiping and the wiped for sacred is the given the toothpaste and the toothbrushes the tissues and the trifles sacred, here and now is the given sacred the giver for humble lips and humble teeth shall utter sacred words of goodness and of wisdom he arrives
the door lets him in it is warm inside the coat takes him off he is tired the sofa sits him down “Call for the moon as he sleeps,” cries the bed “Call for the sun as he wakes,” cry the curtains at the lathe or the spinney work makes the unknown the half conscious, our own yet we know not we know only form and function within a soft humility or a nagging compunction yet beyond the urge truth may emerge shining, unspoken and blow the heart wide open there is winter through the window the sky is grey-blue over the silent snow and the dawn is as endless as the night together a little whimsy would lift the melancholy into a fuller heart but afraid of the cold and the dark the dragging dark they break into a positive stride and step straight over the sweetest of pathos “I can teach you to be real if you are willing to feel.” He said. the harmlessness of the true beggar is bought at all cost his kingdom, never claimed, can never be lost just as the humble meet the ground with their humble feet they shall inherit and the true beggar will toil and ask for no return as the heart that freely gives truly lives the true beggar shall receive only alms and their heart shall shine through everything and everywhere as it calms and they shall be no stranger to the world ownership was never belonging and does not belong in the heart of the true beggar the romantic joins the word and the world groping and hoping for the perfect match and love needs no words the mystic sees his chance he is happy to be hopeless and dance himself free gazing down at the empty playground... the poet that delights in the word and in the world binds the heart to delight merely in the word is to become lost inside and torn apart only what is simple and real is calm to the feel and opens the heart then peace is in the question and listening is the art and listening, glistening may gather the children of the heart to the empty playground |
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