Wafting on the Breeze

Little mote, wafting on the breeze,
Or little speck in the waves of the sea,
I envy thee, the ignorance of your slavery.

O owl, called wise, you are no such thing;
Helpless symbolic reverie
Marks your pattern of being.

Are we better because we can see the chains?
Freer because we can lick the reigns?
They are cold, and the chains unbreakable.

But there is pleasure in the passing
Of things. and we are seeing,
Listening, and tasting Being.

We are hidden in the hurt and joy here -
Pay heed, listen to the fear,
Though it's loud, so is our cheer.

Featured image: ‘Owl’ by Bensaku Tsuda (1630), image in the public domain.

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