The craft is honed
And weathered by hand
The aberrations of rebellion
Worn smooth to the gesture
Of the mudra
Its changing currents
Wafting over the defiant edges
With a firm and relentless will
Conformity of purpose
Is the mantra
The submitted alignment
Of all intention
The subjugation of all
Divergent form
To the harmony of faith
In that which is worshipped,
That, which is intended,
Piling the tinder of speculation
Upon the pyre of sacrifice to
That which must be polished
And smoothed over
And weathered by hand
By the gesture of the mudra
And its river of braided light
Twisted tight upon itself
Blasting its luminosity
In blinding self containment
In conformity of purpose
To the repetition
Of the mantra
Drumming out the sublime
To rise to that which is
Beyond ascension
And bloom into other worlds
Billowing the love
That defines its graces
By the special nature of its craft
Or the sharpness of its blade
To that which reaps the harvest
Of the tempered skill
Weathered by hand
And worn smooth to the
Gesture of the mudra
While the combined forces of resistance
Seeking out their dark loneliness’s
Become enslaved by the hypnotic rhythm
Of a single purpose
Repeated endlessly
In a mantra
