My poetry is a sentient being.
Compounded by causes and conditions.
An organism with body heat
skin uncracked,
grey eyes wide.

Through these verses that vibrate
The blue blood of Holy yearning
runs like rivers flowing stronger
through the power of the stones
carved by sloth of self-defeat. 

A leaf thrown into the wind
self-aware,
swiftly rising:
in Awakening its north.

When the verse takes its course:
Epic artistic momemtum.
The same as that of the mind
without direction, 
lacking time
or location
towards Enlightenment disposed.