VOID

Sexual...
Emotional and Spiritual...
Held together by a dilapidating bridge...
Missing planks...
Tightly woven rope...
Immortal Earth holding it together...
Always the ability to cross...
Though death is always tasted...
The lion below smells blood...
But for the Hiker...
He has grown used to this treacherous journey...
A transmuter of sorts...
He is aware of the repressed...
He knows the way of the weed...
Apparantly cut out of land...
The root stays out of sight...
The soil remains tainted...
Until its not...
Enjoying the sound of one hand clapping...
He nourished himself with the fountain of his own heart...
Drinking without the senses...
The Hiker knew not what he enjoyed so much...
Although something to be relished....
His insatiable fetish kept him void...
Of understanding, of Bliss, of Union...
But as many a time the broken planks cut his foot...
He uses the string of his boot to stop the blood...
Refusing to be hardened any more...
He grabs the saw, the hammer and nail...
Out of the void...


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