The Gift
Of being aware.
They walk on by in drifts and droves,
And never stop or blink,
We are a superstitious lot,
So, the sages think.
And then one day out of the blue,
A stranger passed my way,
Our eyes explored the open doors,
We’d pass through one fine day.
The day was kissed, in the morning mist,
The sun threw shards of light,
We settled down and spoke our minds,
Experiencing delight.
In another world, we walked,
Past drudgery and pain,
In an ilk of spinning silk,
A heaven-sent refrain.
Words can’t tell the tiny bell,
Sounds of synchronicity,
Some will swoon at the full moon,
It’s pure alacrity.
Then, the eclipse falls from our lips,
Like honey from the bee,
Lasting liberation,
Sent to set us free.
We weave a web of gossamer,
The benefits are there,
We strive for objectivity,
The gift of being aware.
Select and secret languages,
Nothing is taken for granted,
Only to expect mutual respect,
And live a life enchanted.
©
David Rudder
2024
Thank you for reading this piece and my poetry.
