Image by giladr via Flickr

Tripping in the desert on the mountain top,

Left behind notions, myself would not stop.

There was a white bunny reading a book,

Startled was I, for he turned, gave such a look.

What are you staring at? Can’t you leave me alone?

The bunny asked me and within a light shone.

I asked what he was reading, was it glum or some fun,

He dropped his reading glasses and asked were I dumb.

Can’t you read the title, you curious young man?

The book I am reading is to teach you you can.

I can, I can, read the book title of course,

But no matter how hard, I can’t find the source.

The source? The source? Of course you must know,

Look closer from afar, and give me no woe.

He held it up high with his white bunny paws,

And the title of course did drop my wide jaws.

“How to buy back that which you stole”,

He then asked when was it that I sold my own soul.

My soul is hardy, it is mine, and not for sale,

How could he think I be one so frail?

Travel on did I, and leave bunny behind,

Down far away, far from bunny so blind.

Could he not see how thoughtful I was?

I thought to myself with fields all abuzz.

Over a turtle I had such a trip,

He looked at me and gave such a flip.

Turtle asked me why the big rush,

Shhh, be quiet, I said with a hush.

There is white bunny far, far above,

Who thinks my soul is off and vacant of love.

My soul is with me, wherever I go,

It is not for sale, that much I know.

You know so much, for such a young man,

The turtle chuckled and said I am where I began.

But I have traveled so far, so far from home,

Then realized my mistake, and let out a loud moan.

You see, you see, don’t you now?

The turtle sang out and turned into a cow.

You are still you, unlike me,

I am myself, I am free.

Is the bunny wrong, is my soul still mine?

I am the bunny, the bunny so kind.

Your soul you sold when you sold yourself,

You sold yourself for someone else.

Money I must make to pay the bills,

I’m not like you, you have such skills.

The woe in me had not left,

My soul was lost, an easy theft.

Sold or stole, the turtle cow bunny was right,

My soul was lost, a gross oversight.

The book I needed the bunny had read,

So I asked the cow: Could you tell me instead?

Tell me how to buy back that which I stole,

For my soul is gone and I must gain control.

My soul is not mine if I sold it for gold.

Gold use to glitter, but now is just cold.

Go back to your roots, and I don’t mean a tree,

Ask yourself what was it you’d rather be.

I’d rather be poor and cash be no matter,

To follow my dreams the gold I would shatter.

The cow went back to turtle then bunny,

He laughed at me and said I was funny.

All through this journey I knew what was to be,

The author on the book was none other than me.

Other poems you may like:

Line of Consciousness

Drive Thru

Short Curcuit