The practice, quotidian duty to the aim,
the goal, the offering of self,
will and all, in a hope some
witness in their spirits.
Premyelinated young adults,
abating breath, to hold a thought
zooming, to the post war mind state,
presumed to be a dank monk's cell,
peace vacuum, empty but of words
boasting in stories told of works done
battlefield conversions, witnessed
where ever war has made believers,
of any with survival will
to prove the experience,
practice making good enough,
this got to it state, got it, got the proof,
spiritual, mental marks of exclusion,
blank eyed stare, unforgettable visions, yes,
see here, in the tween twixt you and us, we

the lost minds used by many who once left
being, just left being
by many who once knew

the art of keeping bees can be calming,
I imagine, but never have attempted the art.

Most learners leave as users entranced
by the evidence in the dance.