What is this, this state after existence
for all purposes has ceased beyond
the act of breathing, the basic bodily
functions; this, this is mere being,
nothing more, for existence is
having goals, doing, creating,
going out in the rain and getting
wet in the spring shower, not looking
feeling nothing but the landscape,
it's gloomy colours, seeping into
you. There must be a million monks
and nuns who yearn for this and
never achieve, tied to the act of
shaping the world, raking the fallen
wet leaves away, existing.
08.04.2024
#Poem Poem #Poems Poems #Poetry Poetry #Verse Verse
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