Morning Poem
(I will ty to understand things that I don't understand, I will try to make what has never happened before.)
When I wake in the mornings, I feel my soul rise up,
and with the weight of music,
I begin a morning dance.
Morning rituals; coffee, cappucino's friends talking.
The core of the individual is not found in the single one,
but all those who surrounds him
(therefore choose your friends wisely)
but if we do not understand that plasure is a parody of life (that life is suffering
and an eternal search for peace,)
we doom ourselves to slavery
by the very freedom that we seek.
This is why you won't see me dancing any time but the morning—
when the sun rises, when the grasses bloom;
when the trees spring up
and mother sun begins her daily hike.
Her daughters are all running about,
trying to figure out what to do.
They lagh, they giggle; spin and twirl—
but first there is philosophy, then there is spirit.
Two are entertwined to form one.
At all other times, we are split apart;
like pieces of glass in a mosaic
unshining in pitch black night.
My purpose is not like others:
to remove the darkness so that there is no mosaic to shine,
(forgoing the pain of splitting apart, of being un-oned)
but to follow the lights that shine upwards
and light the glass ith fire.
peace;
All else, I must consider it lost;
there is no wrong or right
anymore.
Nothing but the calming music of the morning
which gets me from the sleep.
Nothing but the rich smell of coffee
gracing the room.
Nothing but the words of friends
who have something good to say.
First we will begin, second we will create;
third, we will die, but fourth
we rise again.