I hear an owl, distant calling
From its peaceful abode;
Beacon is it for the night spirits to flow
Forth from man’s seasoned load.
His head turns away so far
And its wings hit the softened sky
While all man can do is
Cross his eyes; stop those
Inner flowing words,
Then imagine he knows an illusion
Of free life. The owl sweeps down
Upon its prey and all the
Victim does is sing a hymn.
That hymn won’t stop death’s wings
Though; nor will fame or money.
The origin has no end,
The end has no beginnings…
There is only now, life and death;
No values in the now, perception
Has no place without time.
There is only understanding of the owl.