Feast Of Mind


Silence,
The mind wanders like a sheep without a shepherd,
Grazing everywhere but
Here.
Grazing everywhere but
Now.
Nearby the wolves of worry and regret smell prey,
Tasting the past on their tongues
and salivating at the future,
How tragic to become a feast for the over and done with
And the maybe so,
But I am certain that this mouth full of grass
Tastes
So
Good.

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