Meditation

The light pings and chimes of a lullaby, ringing quietly, afar. 

I hold my head down low in silence, feeling yellow, bright, it shows. 

Suddenly, I hear a melody, a sense of character and rise

Something beautiful with highs and means of which I've never known. 

I want to call it majesty, to sit upon it's throne 

Which may or may not be in a fast racecar

A baseball player going in for home. 

A struggling man who fed his children, his empty belly lay content 

I want to call it empty, nothing there you would ever wish to forget. 

Though not much to remember 

A constant drone of blissful thoughts 

That weren't quite thoughts there to begin with 

Something that is but still is not. 

I want to hold it soundly, 

To routinely hum it's tune 

So I'll sit out in the garden 

From the winter until June 

I will smoke the day's first cigarette 

and curl my toes between my knees 

I will always view meditation 

as not a want, 

but mere, a need.