Melting in the cushion
Resting wearies
Finding stories
Floating through the sky
Broken into reality
Forming opinions
Jumping into the chaotic mess that perplexes me
Find certainty in the imagination and let it be
Pooping on all that has come and Defining every little question
Forming opinions
Tiring and craving curly lines go straight
To something digestible I can meditate on
Wondering again and again
Dear god the monster has arrived with quick concession
Pay a fee and hope for the best
Burn a candle
Prey, really or act!
Action in the tradition that has seen light?
Perhaps but darkness lurks behind the curtains
From the corners
And deep into the tragedy I go
Far from it! But my hateful eyes do gleam
Turning now to something else I shall see
Maybe a magic box
That goes pop
Concentration! Concentration!
Ah meditation!
Some peace at last
Prejudice
Should I hate
Alas no but hate does come in its stormy presence it blows away the good judgement
Ah now that’s close
The wind, the cursed bloody hate that has come from person that I wish to forget
The drudgery and pain
Turning point
Turning point
Step up
Step out
Let the pebbles hit the water and then you’ll skip ahead
We all can do it
Skip shit I mean walk
Walk on water
Here comes the hate again
Prejudice
Assuming, aassuming
Jumping and skipping
I want to walk every footstep
But in the right direction
Soft quite footsteps
Perhaps I’ll jump a few hurdles
Roses prickling and standing still.
– Garry O’Connor
