Like you, I too, was not amused,

and with life’s pain was most confused;

and yet the mind could love so well

among the forms where it did dwell.




Such paradox of love and pain

caused the mind to turn again

to itself where thoughts abode,

the inward calm, reflective mode.

But nought there was that came to me

to terminate ambiguity.




Thus, in ignorance I did bask,

not equal to the cosmic task,

and sighed a poem to my love;

it echoed to the stars above,

and like the essence of a rhyme

it hit the furthest depths of time,

and showed me all there was to see

beyond the forms, in Eternity.




And in the essence tallied long

rejoicing in the cosmic song.

Was it thus well done ? you say;

In likeness of the cosmic way ?

‘Twas not a likeness of anything else;

for it was... the thing itself.




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