Torrential storm torn roads.
I bravely observe through my windshield
which I have learned to protect with
a magical coating
brought from that place of wisdom,
a coating to aid clear vision,
too slippery for rain to cling.
The rains have always come,
soaking my bones to aching.
Binding tears to dampen
chaotic dust,
some say making life possible.
But if I can’t see my road clearly,
the streams and ponds delineated,
too blinded by the storm, I could drown.
Clear, serene, unbridled joy and pleasure,
I have learned the route to wisdom,
though not yet found the payment
to make it my home.
On that poorly paved, uncertain, lonely road
I seem always to be traveling,
beset by sudden storms,
long-raging deluge,
I am glad for my slippery potion,
its gift of clarity of vision,
for these storms are so magnificently

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