The Bliss


Me; here is me, of the eye feast and the sound,
tied tight by threads inside my mind; dead air impersonating ground.
Oh, vibration; oh, the buzzing of the body quick to miss,
untouched by threads inside my mind; ignored here is the bliss.
The bliss cannot be felt like this, so envious of not.
This is bliss, but still I wish to fill the empty pot.

Me; what is me, of the eye feast and the sound?
Dancing with a frantic mind, the now and I are bound.
Oh, vibration; oh, the buzzing of the body not to miss,
but laden with a frantic mind, evading, is the bliss.
The bliss is sometimes felt like this, so envious of now.
This is bliss, but still I wish to know exactly how.

Me; I'm not me, of the eye feast and the sound.
Drifting with a silent mind, concord has been found.
Oh, vibration; oh, the buzzing of the body can't be missed,
encumbering a silent mind and resting in the bliss.
The bliss is always felt like this; so envious of what?
This is bliss and not a wish could open what's been shut.

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