deepundergroundpoetry.com

Meditation

On every level
of the ancient realms,
they made sacred love,
entering by the ear
and mind
the ministry of station,
the stupa whose
notions dispelled
and then wafted away
the material,
the maya,
the illusions
of differences,
and then,
and when
all semblance
of attachment
had reached the last rung,
the blissful blossom
dropped,
and the stream
they entered
was neither
here nor there
but instead
a droplet
of pure honey.

runningturtle87
Written by runningturtle87
Published
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