Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2019
All the world’s a stage, they say;
And the mind that makes the sun
Cannot quite conceive of None;
Life’s a game we have to play.

Perhaps life is just life to be
And living is the greatest art
And in the end we’re always free
In the balance of our heart

Tell me, then: what tells me this?
The world within, no less real,
Yet not more; therein is bliss.
Behind the door, simply feel.

What’s without and what’s within:
Is there balance; is there zen?
Aaron
Written by
Aaron  24
(24)   
  365
   ---, Fecundeity and Mybadbrainday
Please log in to view and add comments on poems