Singing away the clean melody
He watches it slow
Only replicated by the seas
Where winds rescue the waves from each other
Simmer and flow
From one to the next
Feeling the delicate spray across his face
From the seas who shake hands with the rocks
He stands within the scene
Understanding its illusion
Its' substituting for the truth
The skies freeze in the shades of black
The dark of the night
The sheet of twinkling sprinkled across the charcoal expanse
It's real
Yet it's not
Just like the air around him
This, with it's partner, the mist
Capturing swirls and waves
Through and through
In and out of its fabric
To quell itself into bouts of silence
Where everyone just pauses
And purses
To enliven the contrast
Between their activity and temperance.
He watches it slow
And shake up its pace
And sleep down again
Into a wistful bliss
Be he is not fooled
By its simplicity
Nor beauty
Nor grace
Nor touch.
He knows the truth
The one that lingers within
And tempers this existence with that
He stays aware
And completes it in his mind
That the truth is only One
No matter how solid its alternative may seem
He knows
That each particle is an illusion
Despite its density
Despite its sense
Despite its sense
And he can persist
In the purity of his knowledge
Unoblique
Undivided
Without the illusion of feeling
To be absorbed into the Source
As each piece of existence
From this false plane
To gather on the other side
As equal as he was meant to be
Solid
Only in truth
And meaning.
