Part Five


The world is harried.

Time, the illusion,

Held by no man

No god

No universal hand.

The rush and haste

And hustle, bustle,

Propelling the masses toward an end

With days numbered.

A numbered illusion.

Slow down.

Sit a spell.

No need to run or fly

Or walk.

Enjoy the sun on a yo-yo

And take a bite from the moon.

Better yet.

Do nothing at all.

The sweetness of the lazy peasant

Who enjoys the taste of life

Instead of working. Working.

Disincline the exertion

And remember.

The illusion will still be there in the morning.



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