Meditation by Terry Cummings


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He sat alone on a wooden chair
All around was still
Filtered light in a room so bare
Which silence seemed to fill

His eyes were closed but surveyed all
His body was limp and numb
He was five foot nine but forty foot tall
In a world the size of his thumb

His mind was clear in the smoggy black
His senses sharp but dead
Eternal Knowledge like a winding track
Stretching miles around his head

Forgotten memories spring to life
Then fade like fire in rain
An inner voice cuts like a knife
Then silence reigns again.