Ghost Wanderers
Hark now bloods of a mocking feather
Spruce up my lips once rosy now wane
Tan my spoils of skin ye gold leather
Ghost wanderer I err in eerie plane
Dance of rain I invoked dark weather
This my lonely mind you name insane
To bosom I’ll bring moss and heather
I will seek not joys like yours mundane
In mother’s arms I knelt grief stricken
For the hate flared so, spared but a few
As the jagged woods would now thicken
Immortal souls spring from earth anew
Earth cradle was to me mother’s womb
And earth will yet be my one last tomb
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"It is the truth that liberates, not your effort to be free.” - Krishnamurti