silken pink clouds of sounds

speak to my soul

they see with the eyes of God 

who knows the unknown

I can’t be other than what I am 

and my mind can’t fit in a plastic mold 

my hunger is from the pain I own 

for there is no one recipe that feeds my heart

 like that energy of the I am  that I am

It echoes in me and all the mystic fools

that wish on a distant star

and throw out the thoughts of who they are

in the the guise of the happy idiot

that really has no clue

as to what difference it makes

and what good it is that we can do

just being the cloud

just hearing the sounds

thankful for being allowed 

to try to  commune 

with the universe in some sideways way

to pray for the suffering 

and hope that one fine day

that mystic silken cloud of being

wraps the world in joy and love 

so we can meet under the cosmic sun

and speak of these dreams 

and laugh as we’ve done

to embrace this moment 

this kiss of life’s great mystery 

that reminds from where we come from