This Is Where BuddWrites

Photo by Alexander Andrews on Unsplash

Sunday, December 15, 2019

What is this place? The flute sends its touch from a retro wave. Questions delay a process as sounds are creating the space.

Atop still waters can we unite? Ponder there as warm air travels between argon? The hurt was yesteryear, the suffering is still; but a guardian eagle soars above in peace.

So calm—as the other four moods await their turn. Care to explain such a state?

A walk through water. Swimming in the fire. Climbing the gases of ether. Take a bow for you did not explain—but rather the hills of this land express you.

Fear was the propeller. Right eyes, right time. Because we are enough. We are just. Beauty.

It becomes relative down there. Here it is, everywhere and forever. Pain is obliviated. Don’t talk about it, we might go back. When the lad asks for help, revisit in context. They need to know where you truly were.

Not enough believe. Enough will always. It doesn’t go anywhere. You do.

-Budd