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Motorcycle Monks Digging St. Clare

Riding through imaginary valleys of esoteric thought,
She flagged me down on Dharma Avenue
With her long hair blown back by the pleasant breeze of philosophy.
We were twin souls occupying a dream womb
That could never be disturbed by existence;
The flower petals of contentment fell like rain from nirvana’s skies
And the friendship days were beginning.
The music of poetry filled the perfumed air
And Dostoevsky discussions filtered through the coffee rooms of the enlightened.
I saw St Francis by the Sheep Gate
Talking to Clare with her pretty eyes in the moonlight glare
Conceiving humanity as simple and serene
Without protracted anger and hostilities
Fermenting like wine as the motorcycle monks careened in glee
Around the corner so satisfied to see her
And the children smiled in the tearless world
Where everyone is kind.

poem by Uriah Hamilton
Added by Poetry Lover
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