I saw a brother sitting on the wayside Under a shower of sun. Bare floor and legs folded. He swivelled vigorously from his neck up His head, a cloud of vertigo.
Beside him was a cup. May have been black coffee from Starbucks. His head, a cloud of vertigo.
Something is amiss. He sees rumbling seas Engulfed souls struggling to stay afloat Even the one running to quicken his blood circulation. Everyone dreads the weight of fear So they run and place stones at each mile.
Yet he cannot shake off what he sees Rumbling seas.
Inertia is weightless death. The only way out is to fit through the eye of a needle.