The Search
a sonnet
Where will you find that which you don't know?
In tea leaves dredged deep down in your cup?
In the sound of a lonely cricket's chirrup?
Or in the way a tree's branches grow?
Rocks become smooth in the time-stream's flow
until all of your thoughts have nowhere to go.
Stop chasing these tails, small seeker-child,
your questions have answers clear, true, and wild.
If cracked old voices run through your head
tumbling about like the ocean's roar,
they're weaving in you an archaic thread
and tying it in to your very core.
For the earth will sing to you and words
flutter about you like startled birds.
















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