Swaddled snugly in comfort, the pure heart contends
With deep thoughts of the cosmos. The focus is keen
On the wonder of being while nestled in peace.
One can contemplate clearly the total release
Of the unblemished ego that may get between
Who oneself is and who it considers its friends.
I become like an infant as I fall asleep.
All that may have occurred in the wakefulness state
Dissipates into nothingness. What takes its place
Is a private contentment infected with grace.
In the womb of dark matter, my life has no weight.
I’ll release the day’s clutter, but calm I will keep.
Just how real is dark matter? Sufficient for me
Is that it’s gathered closely in elegant ease.
Warmth and caring embraces subliminal soul
With the cosmos’ cover. I want no control
Of a damned thing. My sleeping is my expertise.
My real Dark Matter Blanket is not one can see.