January 29, 2012
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I, the quiet observer,
They, the faithful believers,
I place myself as them,
Close my eyes, cross my legs,
I inhale the smoldering incense,
Hear my slowed breaths,
I wait and yet I feel,
No meaning for the pain,
No reason for the war,
Neither purpose nor a greater cause
For the sadness I observe.
Are they happier for believing?
Thinking everything has meaning?
Maybe if nothing else they find some solace
From this loud and rushing world.
Perhaps the only meaning is finding some yourself.

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