Zen

Zen is structure, finely tuned;
Zen's unreason won't be moved.
Breath in sequence, but no sleep.
Something's seen behind the eyes,
When the mind is blank and dies:
Something that just might be deep.

Zen is chaos, opened up;
Thunderstorm in a tea cup.
What was that that must be found?
Not now seeking, please don't find,
Zen must stay within the mind:
Keep it safely underground.

Structure's hiding violent facts,
But this violence never acts,
As it's lurking underneath.
Wild knowledge, death is seen,
Not reflected like a screen:
Face is full in front of grief.

But we're back, and here again,
In the comfort of our den;
Drunk haze lifting from our eyes.
Passion's comfort can't explain
What it is that's come again:
Silence, nonsense, no surprise.

Metaphysics plays a part,
In performance of this art:
Thus I know I'm not my mind.
I am nothing; I am free,
As I live in artistry
I no longer stagnate in a bind.

Back to life, I know my name,
My ego loves to play this game:
Vanishing, it soon returned.
I'm complete, both sides unlocked
With my reason still unmocked,
Happy knowing what it's earned.

Zen is art, using the mind
Canvas just to paint behind:
Instinct tells of its truth.
Not so sombre, just for life
Zen is art, a useful knife.
Please do not remain aloof.