I've written these words so many times

And this is the first

You see: we are all original expressions

Perpetuating unoriginality

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As soon as i write I cease to 'be'

As this is just an expression of an essence of being

While 'to be' would be me 'being the words' I write,

not the writing that merely comes out

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And what of doing?

Doing exists within the being

We all have our place

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And yet, it seems that doing is bustling...

Elbowing out being from the space

All consuming, numbing all

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Ah, though we forget

Doing is still part of being

Being, still is rare (as present)

But being is here to stay

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Let being flood our lands

Immersing in our souls

Let it wash our shores.

Our hearts breathe

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And what of being?

Alas, you cannot be anything but

So succumb...

...and let it be

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