A long time ago
days carried more silence,
more devotion.
Moved away, we have, from that.
Noise in heads now.
Rushing about like ferrets in a cage.
Where is the sage in us?
The light.
The sanity.
Hail to that that does not speak.
Hail to nothing in particular sounding.
No words of explanation.
No pictures drawn.
No monuments planned.
Hail to just being here right now.
No sacred cow.
Sky.
Trees.
Day.
Night.
The always is.
The Always Is
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