Untitled (Naturally)

Let us be frank about the character of life.
Gautama had it right. It's nearly always
Suffering, but, here, alone, upon my bluff,
The sun is out. It's winter still, so I am
Neither hot nor cold. I have no one to love
Or hate, or wish I didn't have to hear.
I ate, so I've no thought of food, and nowhere
In me is there pain. I did the jobs I meant to
Do. The planet's sinews stand exposed, the
Naked trees, the fallow fields. The river rolls
Below me without reason, while the air is
Still. Upon a single afternoon, desire dies,
And I've become, if not enlightened, someone
Less and better than before.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 16 times
Written on 2011-03-11 at 21:26

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