The Way

How deep they run, these soul saving echos
vessels mined empty of independent gold thoughts
desperation voids quickly its waste-laden vessels
into an ocean of unfinished oughts

Dogma knocks loudly, testing the waters
with shake of the head and a smile of pure peace
knowledge of truth requires no fathers
the spirit encourages ego's release

The waters are still in the lakes of the prophet
simple the words, profound the great truth
the roof of the church bears tissue-paper soffits
just one breath of nature will flatten its roof

The virtues are posted on the door of a shrine
while the silent prophet whispers "this voice is mine".







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