I have drunk

From the standpipe

Of sour belief,

Constricted and miserly,

Gripping every drop

In an effort to control preciousness,

Becoming a gaunt shadow

Because of it,

For I am a man of this world.

Oh but the world urges to flow outward,

And the standpipe,

Rusty and dripping poverty,

Is but the mind’s eagerness

To hold love down.

For there are some

Whose eyes see beyond the standpipe

To the infinite source,

A waterfall

In which all need

Is foiled in an everlasting deluge.

And for others there is no standpipe

Denying the flow,

Only the mind

Constructing a fictional valve,

Dispensing injustice

And such a limited view.

For energy is free for all,

And you may drink your fill

Until you are full and wholesome

And ready to share

All the light in the world,

Knowing there is no end to it.