What joy and respite
is there to be found..
for the most vicious
of all living fiends
to ever roam..
The All four corners
of this opium den?

When our question
of The How
remains ill-posed..
and terminally
promises to meet
its bitter end..
consider then
another matter
that arises
from the fertile soil
of our mind..
The When?

When does it dawn
upon the poppies
swaying in the field?
That they are not
the moving ones..
but rather are
the moved
by some
external will.
The One
whose ways
they do not
claim to know.
The One
whose only proof
of being..
merely is the fact
of their own
ebbs and flows.

We know The One
to be The Wind.
Its being
is revealed to us
only within
the sacred moment..
when we feel it
brush against our
bare and naked skin.
But where it blows,
in truth, we can’t
pretend to know…

Until we lick
our finger
and then raise it
up into the air!
Whichever side
feels coldest
is the opposite
to where
it’s warm..
That’s where
it blows!
The side that you
end up on
when you tail
The Dragon
by the head.

Truth is,
there’s only one
true joy
and respite
in this world..
for the most vicious
of wild beasts
to ever roam..
The All four corners
of this eightfold
opium den.

It is the fact
that I still love her now..
at least as much,
if not much more,
as once upon a time
I did back then.