Workshop

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Workshop

Sonnet

My mind is as an empty town
All the busy bustles mostly gone.
Only a stray reason and some memory
Hawk their wares in this town empty.

My vital is as a stripped woodland,
Only stumps of charred bark stand.
No birds or leaves or brooks here
Only a bare wind wandering austere.

My physical is as a busy workshop
For here where the mind does stop
I find a growing sense of immanence
That shapes me a new permanence.

My being is as a workshop busy
But none can gaze at its curiosity.