Photo by Evgeni Evgeniev on Unsplash

Sunday, March 8, 2020

One, two, and three, now there opens to beauty with his beast.

You’ll be standing face front to his home, but never see the door to his throne.

Four, five, then six…I too am often tired but through action the day awaits in bliss.

Feel for the next best thing to do. It comes at a price, and hard to explain.

Seven, eight, nine—mix the day with true spirit in divine.

I eat either in silence or with peaceful music—no phone. In gratitude for there were days I couldn’t eat at all.

Ten, eleven, twelve—what comes next? Sometimes nothing! Welp…

Sing if your soul yearns to shout. Breathe if your being drowns in doubt.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, what’s it like to live a divine dream in today’s culture and society? For one, I must ignore the outside noise. They, and it, are the nightmare testing the boy.

People expect rhythm, but words are what I give em’…


Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, Budd writes because no one can 'read' him. And it's a great way to hide public thoughts...

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