Monday, May 4, 2015

Ups and Downs

Any morning I wake up
to notice I’m still breathing,
I do make up a poem.

Feeling alive is hardly
enough to keep my upright 
beast from being downright mean.

I also have to grow up 
the body and mind and then
clean up the shadow I cast.

But without waking up in
spirit, I tend to get stuck 
lifting up the ego’s weight.

Weighed down by haggling over 
the niceties of dogma 
and refined doctrinal traps,

I merely translate points of 
view without any inkling 
of transcendental presence. 

A cup of coffee, or tea . . . ?

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