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mastery
A spark awakens,
not mine, not the world’s
simply the way unfolding,
like dawn upon still waters.
Through soil and root
patience takes hold;
stone yields,
and the mountain breathes with me.
The river guides my hands
its current teaches
to flow without grasping,
to bear strength in quietness.
As seasons turn,
the form refines itself.
What I thought I shaped
was always shaping me.
The wind lifts me upward;
clouds open their gates.
In their vastness
I forget where I end and they begin.
Now art and heart are one pulse,
moving as tide,
resting as stone,
alive in the silence between breaths.
Transcendence is not departure,
but returning
the first spark,
endless in its shining.
Copyright ©
kjeld vk
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