The delicate voice of longing
Urges abandonment of the false prophet
Please don’t assimilate to greed
Swat off money’s grasping hands
Like an eager man’s taking touch
Modernity’s made life a laboratory of lust
This is no salvation to the soul
It hurts to want what’s unneeded
What’s needed is little, so little
A pinch of salt
A glass of water
A hand on back
The silent message of simplicity
Strikes like a current of electricity
Like the reverberation of a Tibetan gong
Like the whistling body of a chime
See truth in the knotted roots of the sycamore
Hear beauty in the churning belly of the ocean
Feel care in the lush nurturance of the jungle
There is pale acceptance
There is no mercy,
But a wildflower of compassion
Turn the weary head to what feels wholesome
The hummingbird heart knows what’s real
Deep in the trench of the ravine lies
The still waters of reverence
A golden slice of sunlight
What makes life bearable
Is large appreciation of the little
The tiny winged moth of bliss
Perches upon one’s shoulder
Fragile but alive
No false amusements
No forcing the feeling
No need to try
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