Practice makes perfect.

A Poem by poeticpiers

A bronze gong sounds and resonates.

The echoes slowly die away.

The ancient monk still meditates.

As he does every single day.

He falls into a trance like state.

Which he achieves with practised skill

The sound waves cannot penetrate.

His consciousness against his will.

The ancient monk sits tranquilly

.Detached from our reality.

He is content to simply be.

Enjoying the tranquillity.

Of being free from illusion

Earned by meditation.

Wednesday, 25 April 2012

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Added on April 26, 2012
Last Updated on April 26, 2012

I am poeticpiers but system refused to recognise my ID SI I reregistered more..

Applegarth

See you soon.