Constraint

By Gub (Eden Holme, 26 July 2025)

We have so

Little time 

Leaning against the empty carcass of the wind 

The day pulled short;

the tight string of

Life’s purse

The jewels

Of purpose

(Of meaning) 

Held, diminutive

In a bag of velvet constraint, 

As if our sole asset 

Were significance, 

Without which we would 

Perish 

As paupers 

But this is entrapment 

By ego of consciousness 

And not the source of light

In our being 

Meaning is but a flicker 

Of the projector’s 

Trailer,

The feature throws 

A bigger picture into space 

An expanse of story on which 

All things pervade, and sense 

Is senseless -

To follow such vastness 

We must be invert

Become what we are not, 

Exhale our something 

And become nothing 

With the oneness 

That is the gift the

Black purse hides 

The most valuable gemstone 

Is the uncut jewel,

Whose reflected light

Is never released…