Caricamento in corso...
Moscow Tavern, by Boris Kustodiev
Robert L. Martin

The Empty Sage

The Empty Sage
 
So much to be gathered, then thrown away
Stuffing data into tight places
No room to breathe, no room to wander
Pure thoughts looking for sacred spaces
 
Data builds bridges too proud to go across
To wander through the mist into nothing
Nothing, that dreaded space without a dream
No thoughts, no evil, no words, no desires
 
The empty sage, a child without a mission
Depleted of all earthly burdens
Where humanity becomes a fascination
And their words, an unfamiliar sound
 
Slander is a love poem with no meaning
Words tossed into the air, blown by the wind
The empty sage, his ears cleansed in beauty
Once a proud keeper of data
That word that became a poem
That poem that became a dream
That dream that became nothing at all
Nothing at all, but an open heart
That open heart that
Let the grace of God in
The grace of God that placed in his heart
An eye that could see the unseen

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