Cursed since birth
a wretched soul condemned to roam
weary and restless
a spirit in endless distress
destined never to know a home
carelessly cast into wily winds which
randomly transport abandoned seeds
to neglected fields
whose harvests yield
unsavory and worthless weeds
from indifferent, cruel gardens
whence they came
amazingly still great effort made
in hopes of bearing fruit
though each attempt to blossom in spite
regrettably reaps the same
With nowhere to go
nor the slightest clue how to grow
perpetually lost outside of the flower bed
unwatered without sunlight
even San Pedro would lose this fight
so these whithering sprouts
succumb to harsh droughts
til they are too soon dead.
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two winds from the same earth’s dearth corner
reminiscent enough of gemini
to easily interchange
the convolution creates an illusory inseparability
though the tempests remain autonomously alone
rushing briskly over oceans and seas
amassing collections of debris in whirling eddys
struggling and screaching through jagged branched trees’ leaves
‘round staunchly stoney mountain crags
which hinder their momentum
until all strides are left broken
gusting gales and hurricanes
Maestroms of tunneling tornadic pain
‘cross all longitudes and latitudes
then back again
in relentless never ending cycles
every midday finds high noon
each night overwhelms the souls with starkness
just as dusk has always ushered a new day’s dawn
hope remains that zephyrs may outrun the darkness
Samsara hostage fugitive
To be forgiven or to forgive
Asks the perigee moon.
The tides roll high
towards the midnight sky
casting shadows on the picayune.
Ashes to dust and back again
Bound by vows or original sin
Karma curses mortals.
Vanquish doubt, strife and fears
watch as suffering disappears
in thresholds of mahasattvic portals.
Gate, gate, paragate
Find liberation on the other shore.
Prajnaparamita awaits you there,
once you lay down your oar.
As with surviving any natural disaster, I am left feeling both devastated and relieved. I weathered the storm, but now its time to rebuild and reconstruct a shelter to stave off any such destruction as I now know possible.
This time I will use steel to fortify my foundation and Ft Knox will envy my security.
I will never be caught off guard again.
So well practiced at the art
Of not giving a shit
The act of really feeling
Makes me sick
Needing no one,
I will never quit
Loving is the one habit
I vow to lick.