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There exists a nameless, dream-like,
wandering state
anonymous
To which, oddly, I aspire.
A following of The Way,
Quiet and unassuming in manner
A self effacing journey of submersion
Totally, without appeal
into my Father's house,
the Universe.

Sometimes, people say
kind words
about my expression
of my journey,
My scribblings
And my rhyming doodles.
It's nice
When they do,
And I'm happy
They can relate
But it doesn't really matter
It's not an end in itself
And if I don't watch out
Somehow, it distracts
And focuses
Unwanted attention
On my wholly irrelevant ego.

I wish I could remain,
nameless,
And unseen, but rumored to be
Rhyming
Somewhere high up the mountain
Where only clouds
Dream-like
drift by.
Untroubled by the struggling
Of this
Mortal Man.

Perhaps, in erasing self
And forgetting my name
Lies reward
Maybe
I can finally become
Lost
In the true expression
Of Humility
And fully realize
At last
How small
Insignificant
And dull I am.

At the same time
Knowing
Beyond a shadow of doubt
That I am a child of the Universe
And that I am
quietly
Amazingly
Passionately

loved

Francis Meyrick