we are waiting in our comfortable places
pretending there is a beginning and an end
pretending there was no birth
wishing there is no death
our fate
is to vanish into the emptiness
into the infinity that never existed
the infinite that always exists
there is no one,
there is no me, no you
there is only the golden thread of eternity
only the fabric of infinity
there are no gods outside us
there is only us
only you, only me,
only unity
this place you call your body
this place you call your soul
is the same unmeasurable emptiness
in every direction
there is only emptiness taking form
only the empty and the awake
only the ripple
on the smooth surface of the lake
© 2025 Bruno Talerico
Stafford challenge 288/365.
Inspired by writing of Jack Kerouac. Title stolen from the Grateful Dead.
Desert Dweller 