What do you mean?
Why do you need to mean?
Atoms are made of rhythm and sound,
not meaning.
Blossoms, trees, and forests are made
of rhythm and sound,
not meaning.
Clustering spirals of rhythm and sound,
galaxies don’t mean anything.
What does this poem mean?
Nothing.
It's just rhythm and sound.
For a moment, friend,
on a Sabbath morning,
give up the work,
give up the search
for meaning.
Just breathe, circling round
a great emptiness
filled with the rhythm and sound
of love.
God doesn't mean.
God whirls and sings.
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