Whatever author doth yield to divine love

44

Whatever author doth yield to divine love
*
Like a small boat
Carried down the river
Of mystical Voice
I followed my way
*
Surrendering to
The poetic content
I was given, the few
Paragraphs I would write
*
That would be written
Through me like the last love
Of the little love I
I could give
*
To die of love
Beneath the veil of all bliss
Is listening, silence, stillness
The truth of no-language

And a music of nature/
Without symbol, duality, information
No binary code to ruin
The blank page, the white

Page that is not white/
Like a bubble on the lips
Of the river that carried me down
I wanted to be drowned

By language and arrive/
At the suffocation after idea
Where words buried themselves
In the silver bottomless sea

Of universal energy/
That is the end of poetry.

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