There are words to be read and have been written,
but there is something to be seen even
when the eyes have been shut. It is to wonder
as to what it is that nature is revealing.

A nice cool breeze down my spine indicates
and so as to show the clarity of thought,
who speaks of love in the terms of
profession. Sublime is one who
[sees / speaks] of the absolute, an infinite
metaphor of the absolute.

Such things are so great to the means of mortal men;
of earthly desires? By practice
and virtue so natural and innate,
of meditation that welcomes awareness
and employs imagination to inspire.

There are words on a page. Words on a page
on which I am writing of the moment.
Salient as they may be,
they are enjoyable if they were to remain.

This dream never seems to end.
May this dream be more than illusion.
Added to this equation the mind wonders,
or is it they are mistaken?
Is there really a truth in youth?
Is it too late to [change / know]?

Why am I so perplexed,
and how come I am not overcome?
For if they are truly here,
I have found them hidden
in a place for every time.

Here together on this page,
neither of us perfect.
Thank you dear reader,
for this is mine, but when we speak
we are free as a bird and its
sense of infinity.

It is found in Nature surrounding us.
Take a deep breath, therefore,
and let it all go. Have no fear.

Return if you wish, then read again.
These are just words on a page,
that were not here before,
written down once again, so they may be
found in Art or Nature, or Love.

Or am I better off on this matter?
Does it matter at all?
Except for those who do not fully understand.
Listen, teach me and experience
these words of mine.

The glory is found in knowledge
of those free minds who see at all.
Except for those who choose
to forget as it is absorbed.

Regardless, if you agree,
read them as they are until
it is over.
These are words.