For No One

One day,

These words will be gone.

 

One day,

They will vanish

From the face of the earth.

 

They are here today.

They will be gone tomorrow.

 

These words

Are not for any man.

 

They do not hope to reach

Any man.

 

They are

As they are.

Still

And stark.

 

They are not an invitation

To anyone.

 

They are not a recommendation

For anyone.

 

There is no compulsion

To read them.

 

There is no desire

For them to be seen.

 

In many ways,

The fewer

The better.

 

For there is something . . . impure

About volume.

 

Too many roaming eyes

Create the risk

Of popularization.

 

There are things in this life

That a must come to know.

 

And these very things

He never comes to know.

 

Things that cater not

To happiness and flights of fancy.

But to the creation

Of a stable life.

 

Things that cater not

To betterment or improvement.

But to a true and genuine Survival.

 

Words have power.

But it is the soil in which they are planted

That determines their ultimate harvest.

 

The world is a place

Saturated in impurity.

 

Thus,

That which is pure

Is difficult to see.

 

There is much to know.

But the magic lies in the specificity,

Rather than the volume.

 

These words do not attempt to teach.

For teaching

Tends to spawn students

Who make a point

To never understand.

 

Shall it be said

That what a man believes his life to be

It is not.

 

And what his logic has served him

Is but a heap of illusion.

 

Shall it be said

That the things a man seeks

Are not where he believes them to be.

 

And all of the signs

Eventually point

To other signs.

 

Man is not a creature

To be helped.

 

What he does,

Where he goes,

And what he is driven to seek

Comes from him.

 

These words

Sit as they sit.

 

And they are meant

For no one.

 

 

Namaste.