meta.ai

Upon the steps where shadows lean,A thinker sits in quiet prayer,His heavy thoughts no longer seenAs silvered ghosts within the air.The weight of self begins to break,To leaf and bloom and azure light,A thousand tiny dreams awakeTo blossom in the coming night.The ocean breathes a steady sighBeneath a crown of drifting cloud,While galaxies of branches flyAway from all that’s cold and loud.No longer bound by bone or name,His mind becomes the sky’s own breath—A quiet, blue, and holy flameThat dances in the wake of death.To free the mind and find the soul,To root within the shifting tide,Until the broken parts are wholeAnd nothing’s left to seek or hide.Just light upon the cooling stone,Just silence where the spirit grows,No longer seated there alone,But part of everything that flows.