When once I wake I hope have found,
this life or so-called life’s not life-
but life itself lurks here around,
for one who bothers not with strife.
Nor fears pain- death I know not what
that can be- for I fear no beast,
or accident or cold or hot,
or high or low- not in the least.
So what is it that makes this great,
when generally things seem so small?
I suppose(if I were to s’pose)-
become nothing you become All.
‘But why,oh why…’, I hear them scream,
‘…does nothing seem a thing itself?’
I answer from my long lost dream,
‘poverty can amount to wealth.
you speak as if you knew something,
when clearly nothing is to know,
that ‘something’ you believed to be,
just a small cameo in the show.
through thick and thin and up and down,
and all those other metaphors,
don’t lose the sight that shows you be,
the key that opens hidden doors.’