Effects of These

A stillness, that is hard to find.
A quiet stretch of the mind.

Lasting not for but a few.
There’s too much for me to do.

Life’s for living’s what they say.
Cannot waste my time away.

Doings to which I’ve been condemned.
What’s the point? What is the end?

Peace is but a fleeting thing.
Effort’s wind beneath the wing.

A striving for the soon lost.
Work, resistance, all it costs.

Why give time, this price I pay?
If it’s all gone soon anyway?

Should I try or never start?
Thoughts of these tear me apart.

Yet unity is revealed,
In progress and how it feels.

Not the goal or achievement.
But a tuning, an agreement,

With primal needs to go fore.
To aim and shoot, nothing more.

Restless soul not calmed by rest.
The journey is, in fact, the quest.

I won’t live to see the end.
The living whole and how it bends.

Whether my shot hit its mark?
On this, it seems I’m in the dark.

The string is taught, the bow is drawn,
Unto the time I am long gone.

And then I aim, and I release.
Effects of these will never cease.