Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Mindful of the Tao

Mindful of the Tao

The mind, I wonder of it thus it blocks me
My true self a thing of rags, weeping in a chasm, spurned
From the cities, ruled by flies, greedy lazy
Constructing masks, revelling in their ruin as the city burned

The mind, with marrow raw by narcissism mute,
Ebbing and waning like some fanciful crescent, on dark sky
Suns leap, leaving latticed scars, their burns pollute
Green roots fail, with no trusty patron all true foundations die

Panic, glance over many shoulders, a sea
A sea of drowning views in views, a fleet of myriad worth
A tree with many leaves grows proud but cold will see
And a tree with too many roots is harder to unearth

A mirror, another, looking to latter
Twisting and striving to read the other reflections but no,
A corridor of glass, ready to shatter
So boundless and uncultivated, we camp on its borders

At last we reach, not the bottom but the start,
And meet the nonexistent self, join it, fall into the gloried,
Float, part of all, let the serene dream impart:

That the tree was happiest as the seed!

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