Still chatter under old, all knowing trees
A distant drumbeat accompanied by a late August breeze that seems to seduce into the present moment
Giggling from unattainable shadows pleased with merely the sound of their own joy and water flowing constant
Patterning like a treasured quilt, ripples embracing one on top of the other
Not trying to demand an audience, yet commanding one all the same
Beauty questions only itself which is the allure
True magnificence cannot be seen, only felt
Felt to the feelers fearless enough to feel
The allowance of splendor is a commitment nary a man can go back on
To know is to never forget
To remain discontent when others distract
The richness of reality is meant to fatten oneself with memories, experience, and excellence
To deny this truth is starvation of the soul which is spiritual suicide
Man’s biggest flaw is believing he has one
For the thought given to this falsehood is the birthplace of lack
Embracing that all of which you admire IS all of which you are is the secret
Separating the two is unnatural, yet all too common
Which explains man’s constant striving to covet what he already has
Competition is a farce and hierarchy a myth
We all are
That is all that is.