Zen

Metaphors of yellow poems lay in a cluster on the tree. I subdued my senses and put it into it. Sight lingered as an aromatic taste. The evening sky lay like feathers, mellow orange, all of them whispering the tales of my feelings. I feel warmth, a sensual one; I lick my lips in the solidarity of profound meditation. I think of Zen and feel like one.

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Author: psiberite

I am a Hellenic Philistine driven by the made pursuit of aestheticism, an existential nihilist and post modern deconstructionist.

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