It Is What It Is
Small orifices pulsate in our palms,
radiating intense magnetic heat
and whilst mind is calm and heart has no qualms,
presence beholds the fontanel upbeat,
as sublime bliss beats therein too repeat.
It is what it is, this silent thunder,
rapture bursting forth from deep down under,
so who’d complain when ego’s being slain,
as grace in-pours, gripping us in wonder,
signalling our life’s not been spent in vain.
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