Saturday, March 10, 2018

poem of the day March 10


First pick of the pack
is not necessarily
the best of the pack
Much depends on the picker 
Their mood, the color of the sky
Sometimes the mind gets cloudy
Sometimes the mind sees
clearly the delusion of perfection
shining like a red rose
in a field of gold
I heard it say to pick 
blindly with eyes open
One must make sure
their subconscious


is tapped into the milky void

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