The Quiet Night and The Meditator

No words, or phrases,
Just a still night.
A single body sat,
Draped in a coral shirt,
Leaning over the water's edge,
Toes tickling the cool liquid.
 
Nothing too hard to think about,
Nothing too simple to neglect.
A single body sat,
Not a worry in the world,
Next to the picnic basket,
And old wooden banjo.
 
No love, or hate,
Just a quiet night,
A single body sat,
Beneath the willow,
Protected from the world,
The busy streets,
And the noise of the car.
 
No companion, or nuisance,
Just the minds-eye.
A meditator sits,
For another round,
Another attempt at bliss.
A gentle breath,
The only sound.

Leave a comment