Buddhist Hell III

And equally sure there're those who steal,
Lie, cheat, gouge for necessities, disdain,
Capitolize on vice, ruin faith, loll in adulterous beds,
Yet fall asleep convinced Signor God is standing near
Ready to bless their efforts,
And everything in-between.

Then, there's the Buddha, very Gotoma himself,
Sitting cross-legged, in a strew of lotus petals,
Smooth kernal, fountain of every flowing mercy,
Scented center of every center's center,
Smiling amidst the fires of enlightenment,
Lifting, assisting each thing born to its orb.

Forget it. Unh-unh, no,
I swear now, staring at the Morning Star
Who 'dare to be happy as you are',
Advises, twinkling with laughter,
'You as me, me as you',
There is little perfect.

One thing I...

poem by Morgan Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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