Friday, December 18, 2009
Read All About It
Beneath the surface of the senses
lies a land that simply is.
But when you land within its borders
there’s not a surface overhead.
There are no borders; there is no land;
there’s not a ‘you’ to understand.
There are no words; there’s not a poem;
there’s only bliss of this—unread.
~Son Rivers 2009
Labels:
poem
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment