Siddhartha

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Sweet Siddhartha
Pampered prince,
Living in supposed happiness
Behind the gilded gates
Of your father.
Small suspicions sprout
That the purpose of life
May not have as much to do
With fine dining and shiny rocks
As you were led to believe.

A triad of trips beyond teach
The reality and inevitability
Of old age, sickness, and death,
The pervasive suffering of humankind
Out in the world
Beyond your walls.

Escaping indulgence
In the quiet of the night,
Accepting asceticism
In search of truth
And a cure,
Sitting, studying with yogis
And begging before kings.

No less suffering,
No more satisfied.

Yet the cure for the world’s pain
Was waiting to be found
Halfway between
Asceticism and excess,
Riches and renunciation,
Under the old fig tree
Near the calm pond
Where the lotus blooms.

4/5-4/6/18

My sixth poem for National Poetry Writing Month.

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