Breath’s Sharp Edge

Sharpening one’s breath
How Timid the Blade's Thrust

From where does the storm's grip begin?
Does lightning need the thunder?
Does passion need boredom's consent?
Or
Is passion inherent in breathing
Even for those who would spend their lives suffocated
By their own unwillingness to breathe?

Might the newborn sense such complacency
This breathing of one's conditioned breath
Unable to define one's own place
Shackled by other grown-up's lexiconic understanding
Open-ended description kept isolated

But know to know
Feel
Anticipate
One’s personal flesh and suckling needs
Might be ignored
And growing up will be a bitch
Then acquiescence will take over

Who wants it to grow up anyway
Better to be kept like a society of ignorant parents
Controlled and led
Kept in stalls of mediocrity

By religious and backward societal chaos
Wishing to risk no loss
No gain
No disappointment

But…

Someday you may have to ask
If  that is all there is?

And if you're lucky
There will be a light as answer…

The searing heat of the unknown
The eruption
The liquid seduction of pure rain
The feel of moist warmth beneath your eye lids

As you lay upon the earth to reflect

Answers to the unanswerable
Begin to seep upward
Revealing direction still available

Will you be willing to listen?
To see?
To sleep with unfamiliar sunrises?

Ah…

The deep breath
The sharpening of one's ether

Nirvana is there for the seeking.