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The Mirage of the Green Grass
The mirage of the green grass
Taints the hard to grasp scent
Of sitting down with the wise
Wiry shepherd, wanting ending
Forgetting everything, knowing nothing
Just the patch of dirt you currently
Reside on, like an uncalculated destiny
The culmination of your life’s work
Amounting to nothing but pride
Right before your widest of blue eyes
For the shepherd knows of ever flowing
Evergreens rolling down endlessly kissed
Golden in the sun hills, the evaporating mirage
He’s imagined it, smelt it, taste it
Buried his weary head in its warm
Escaping embrace
Yet he will continue to sit on his uneven
Rock, resting on his dusty patch
Shaded with the dead tree’s lines of darkness
Flickering across his fierce and firm face
With a good and true few thoughts, worries
Circling, soaring with the vultures overhead
For he knows the wicked wishing well of desire
Won’t get him any closer, the ugly mirage
Creepily hanging with the unused puppets
Dangling in a delirious manner of carrots
Behind the always alluring one more hill
See, the shepherd has learnt to subdue
The feverish questioning mind
Idling his dreams in check of time
With the mirage over yonder
And his feet kicking the dusty ground
His big and little toes playing, around