“The Price of Victory (a field)”

[[a conversation in three parts, this being the third part -- I'll publish the other parts soon :)]]

III.

in this we, from dust to earthlings,

maybe become townsfolk, maybe emperors, maybe slaves,

but then all of us corpses, all of us memories,

then ashes, then waves, then dust, all of us

in all we dream, do, or say --

in all we dream, do, or say

but maybe we become earthlings again.

maybe we awake mid-laugh

and we ask each other:

Is this a repeat or

have we found a way out?

a way out beyond rituals, burials,

births, words, and fame,

a way out in this field I bury my angst in,

and every now and then

where I bury myself too

when the mind and my world

are too much with me

and I yearn for just a moment

a field, a sound,

seldom sought, if ever claimed,

seldom taught, if ever owned,

a moment --

in lieu of something sacred,

seldom felt, if ever known