amung us

these are the tools for which we seek,
these cool hands, these flattened feet,
and in the miracle of silence, from that pause
comes an empty moment, fragile and flawed
wordless, attributeless, a non-calm brain
until the old machine cranks up again
and with new motivation seeks the thread
the illusion, the goal, some single, new end
all along the paths, thriving while we may,
we push forward as if forward is where we will stay
but quietly, insidiously, chaos sneaks in
and saves us from reaching the moment, and our goal, and that vim
until at last one day in a miracle of love
we become one with the moment, and no longer walk amung "us"