The Smallest Things

Always
In the end
These poems.

Blue sky
Green leaves
Red clay soil

I wanted to
It was impossible
So I didn’t
But now I wish I had.

Spun struck
Shatterings
Words litter the ground.

There is always more
To take
Helping us forget.

We ask for love
To make us whole
Without giving ourselves.

Only trust those
Who when struck
Ring hollow.

Not mind makes experience
But experience makes mind
What then of self?

The deeper we go
The lighter it becomes
Butterflies.

It is always
The smallest things
Look!

Advertisements

About Jamie Nicol

Living in the forested hills of Catalonia, overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Zen teacher, recovering philosopher, small-scale natural farmer. Writing just what comes.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s