Lesson to the Learned


They carve a place for you
in the echoes of dead men's books.
Listening with a tasteful ear,
you filter truths
as Whitman said to do
and make your place among the frequencies.
'Tis not enough,
in this pulse of flesh, to make truth,
for without happiness,
We slowly starve.

He forgot in his leaves to say
his secret to harvesting your own happiness,
to originally shine, reflection-less.

Just do.
Beat on;
run sparkling into the heart of the world,
wild.

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