rest is easy

you tell me: "anything given has no value,"
and: "if you give in you have no valor" -
but if that's true, then please tell me, too:
why would the outdoors allow
such flushed hues to dawn around
that hushed doe over there?
she's not trying to get you to fawn,
it's just happening, like clouds do.
who makes the green grass agree to grow?
and for who's sake do the knowing things sing so low?
are they proud, like you, of the power they show?
do they announce it everywhere they go?
nobody told the wind to blow just now,
but my hair gets mussed just the same,
even if no one's looking.
i say the real thing is never the seeming
because you can't see it directly.
your lonely snowflake dreams are falling blankets
white and quiet like space, yes, but always melting
into the torrents of more terrestrial streams.
you must divert to water your flowering,
or else risk drowning in the sound of your riverbed crying.
are you listening?
you have to stop screaming if you want to breathe better.
because when you can hear your own heart beating,
there's no fear of leaving, no need to believe
that living is anything more then simply being.
and since now it's easy to rest, the rest is easy.