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Dust of a Lion

Book and Audio

By Dean MoriartyPublished 7 years ago 2 min read
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DUST OF A LION

Up above, the black is cut with pin point stars,

With white noise crickets and surreal lamp posts

Leaning their shadows over the neon;

Some croaky far off is lost, sending sounds hollowing.

Deepness in silence is a wondrous tale that time cannot penetrate;

While other things go on in places of abandon too surreal;

This is the way of it out there:

Flitting lizards and fast growing things, a swamp of luscious;

It's a knowing not a meaning, a oneness

With all that is in a night of it all;

A never knowing what may happen but could.

It is all out there, someplace beyond and yet here too.

This is not made in a factory, rubber stamped,

This is growing in the now,

That grows with every moment, becomes what it is.

I look for the empty space that surrounds,

For that one thing I look for.

I hear bell sounds again from the temple,

Some time only they know,

As if to say this is the time you all must know

And we are ringing it to you, for you,

And we are here to remind you that we are here.

The crickets talk to each other and know their time is now,

The only time there is;

A song that can be felt, ever changing, yet ever the same;

Interruptions on the borders of mind intrude;

Things slow in the fast of it as the fast of it cannot slow

But the here of it just is.

It is a thing, in a thing, with a breeze in a tune

That reminds of something

That cannot be known or forgotten or remembered.

Dust of the lion, the tiger, and the wolf

Eye of the eagle, the shaman;

The angel feather that floats into your hand

In the wind that is impossible in that field

That is only in your spirit

That calls to be answered

For its purpose now to be known,

And is a feast to be won.

So make a garden of delight to have in your life

And invite the friend to share your forgetting and getting,

Because you know the time goes too fast

In the huge happenstance of your life;

This is a miracle that reaches into you

To be answered all that you are.

Take it or leave it, your time is now.

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Dean Moriarty

writer, artist, musician and photographer

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