Short Stream of an Amatuer Yogi

Silent witness, bare fruit,

no fortune, old words

wasted again.

Always wasted, both literal and 

figurative.

Timeless time and other repeated

sceneries.

Loop upon loop.

Repetition mass trivial

repetition in cylcles,

Acting as no repetition at all.

What is repeated,

is reworded.

And the logic of rhetoric

is extorted.

No weakness, only the shortcomings

of our strengths.

Only, that which is thought

is real

Only that which is precieved

is thouught.

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