Follow the Scent
Save rapture of bliss,
where nothing’s amiss,
no emotion should
free float like dead wood.
What then is the cause,
that puts joy on pause,
anchoring our mind
in fetters that bind?
Our organic form,
alive by blood warm,
driven by instinct,
is not yet love inked.
When not need but greed,
of ego we feed,
altered circumstance
is what monks call trance.
To be here now free,
head and heart agree,
following love’s vibe,
to thus bliss imbibe.
29-July-2022
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