HERE

A stir...
Not needed for the overflowing cup...
A Martyr...
He would not be needed..
But bearing witness to his realization...
He notices others that prefer to walk at night...
And without Light...
One may not see Himself...
One may not see his welts...
Lashed he was by the creatures of darkness...
Blinded by the sun each morning...
Night is preferred...
But there is balance...
In preferences...
There is war...
In embodiment...
There is emptiness...
They seeketh comfort...
For they live outside of the Art...
Dried paint on the canvas...
The land mass is too vast for the novice...
He must be led...
Sand in the eyes...
One cannot find even the desert...
The Supreme in everything...
Though some findeth not the overflowing cup...
They thirst not forever...
For in rise, there is decent...
And in the Holy Fire...
There Sage burns perceptions...
For as men walk through...
The Self...
Like the cripple...
Remain firm...
Here...


doM