Light and dismal, this thread that binds
Us all to all things that matter so much,
That the endless noise of those insane minds
Have taken the place of the simple touch.

It is now odd to love as it is the norm,
To seek out more the more we seek,
For the form of love is now the love of form,
and the less we know the more we speak.

We look to tomorrow in the hope we find,
That which is touching us so presently,
For in this conversation of the mind,
It is the ego that speaks so obnoxiously.

Do not rush to feel the hope that’s passed,
Nor seek to see that which may never come,
Just love the love in the Now so vast,
And worry not about what shall Now become.


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