POEM: A Ledged Fall

The leaf let go
Releasing that had given it
In what could have bin
A swan dive
Or a butterfly prancing
But it was doing its own thing
Lining up for know one
Little did it no
But more than enough
That more than one eye
Was watching this spare row
To unseen shores
A boat
To sale free
From cosmic banks
Or goaled claims
And if sow temp
To try land
Wee may very well
Witness yet another
Perfect forum
And only those dolefully miss taken
Call
The fall

This poem is in honor of Fall, and the seasoning Fall affords.  This poem as a tribute to the perfection of and that which gives rise to .  As might be expected, this poem also slams ingratitude in the face of such awesome and good graces.  revels in itself and sublimely desires to be full of oneself. Witnessing such goings-on strikes me as perhaps the primary purpose of .  The supreme of is often overrun by negativity, falling short, the vain grasping of ephemeral realities.  Some of this falling out of the oneness of is poored in concrete, wanting to secure solid stuff, which also tends to be the most lifeless aspects of .  Merely collecting bits and pieces of often represents a very showing — showing being the complement of witnessing.  The division of conscious tends to be an imbalance between the inner and outer aspects of .  Some of this falling out of the oneness of is confining ourselves to our , making academic, hoarding theories and ideologies, dissecting until disappears — though much less mysteriously than peering.  If, instead of witnessing the passing of a butterfly, you prefer collecting their carcasses pinned to specimen cases, then you may fall into this category — being the unchange you want to see in the world.  I strongly suspect that desires us to the fullness of life, not to merely attempt to dutifully collect and accurately describe life’s moving and unmoving parts. Nonetheless, in -acide, I would say that the fall is .

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