This is a Stoic poem by Joe Wells, who posted it recently on the International Stoic Forum...
Pneuma folds fields, encompasing Kosmos
in fiery generation. Me, a puzzle piece
yet whole. A gentle conception lost most
often. I flow freely and feast
outside rigidly defined self. Between
dog and me, nothing. Each a vortex
a singularity of mind softly seen
spinning in space-time. Psyche soar
in the place where causality is
chance, wave functions prance and
reality unwinds into strings. Fists
full of tachyons engorged with sand
of primal tide. Star born child
frolics in cognitive field, wild.