"mayah" poems
The faucet drips
It makes no sound because no attention is paid,
the foggy mirror is wiped to prepare for a day,
Unimportant are the events, as well the faucet
Sense of dread unbeknownst, Brushed away blindly in haste
Average woes of life announced, The mind reacts in practiced hate
The faucet drips
The echo is an ambience to the silent screams of the soul,
The foggy mirror is wiped in irony unknown
The pattern remains the same
But a desire for change, fills the spirit loud
With the same power that opens eyes, and fills the ears with sound
The faucet drips
A head is turned in utter astonishment, like a newborn to Earth's offerings
A divine mystery is answered simply
To questions never asked, answers are received
The faucet is ceased and the foggy mirror is wiped in true reflection
A mind is put to ease and rests in peace
While a spirit is born through an inner see section,
Remainder of days will be filled with Zen
Because
The faucet will never drip again
© Copyright 2015 Mayah
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC