What I share with Siddhartha


I count every grain of sand,
My meditation is now only static.
Have my prayers ever been answered?
There must be a god,
But where he lives, I do not know.
I was told of angels,
I would die to find them,
To find god,
Find Nirvana.
Within is only chaos,
Without is mere frustration.
I am old enough now to take or reject,
I am strong enough now to escape.
I have found I’m not my mother,
So I won’t believe as she.
God is not found in a book,
For if he were,
We wouldn’t find such paradox between the lines.
God is not found in a church,
For I have seen many,
And he has yet to speak new words to me.
They claim to be filled with the spirit,
But perhaps it’s only with the hope thereof.
For the only spirit in them is their own.
And possession is often frowned upon.
I would walk across burning coals,
And broken glass,
To find peace inside.
And all I’ve grown with has tried to fill me,
But I am still so empty.
Can such intense hunger be satisfied?
Perhaps I’ll wait,
And learn of my mistakes,
In a not so far off place.
Has anyone found a real God?
I wish to find my God through life,
Not from my eyes.
Should someone find one on their own,
I would come to them,
For a glimpse of what they now know.
To see what fills them,
And what lacks within me.

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