Sunday, February 02, 2014

2.1005 : 2/2/08 : Files (Seventyseven: 10 of 81)

What’s the essence what’s the spark of life
They must not separate on pain of strife
Gathering and channeling the energy wild
become as soft and supple as a newborn child
The inner eye grown clouded and gray
the masters need so badly to put cleverness away
hiding in the role of my anima
storming heaven’s gate from here to Panama
Seeming silent, prescient but still
Doing all yet seeming as if with time to kill
I set no store by these burgeoning files
I call it hidden virtue hidden in these piles

Post a Comment