Please enjoy this spiritual poem.

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The Sharpest Knife

Crimson droplets slide,

spiral

’round a wrist.

A dull, gray glimmer from the chest.

I have to hurry.

The seconds linger,

extending the moment too

long.

If it continues,

the wound will hide itself.

Once more an opportunity vanished.

While I was gone,

the apprentice had ground featureless

mettle

against the grindstone of love.

Then trying too soon, drove the blunt blade

inwards.

But sincerity guided that stroke well.

So I hurry to bring my my student

the sharpest knife possible

to cut all the way through to freedom.

Author

I'm a spiritual teacher who helps people find freedom from suffering.

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