The flame creeps closer,
Helicopters scream out in futile hopes,
Water, ash, wind, the flak of burning dreams,
Such wealth squandered,
Such life wasted,
Taken away by the merciless torch of nature’s mode.
Our cruel mistress,
Victim to her fancies.
Liable to all her fits,
Her emotions,
Without a say, without an act,
that can ever change her.
We are forever, in her home,
to make our own, but it will never be ours.
...
The windy tendrils grasp my soul
Tender and gentle they guide me home.
As the sound settles, I am always left
Once more to know, the sweetness of death.
The mirage of life, so forth subsides
A return to the soil of time.
...
A troubled mind says, there is so much left.
Many books, many things, many women I have yet to see.
Desire consumes and the faintest echo,
Of a soul demanding more than ethereal efforts.
To wake from this dream, the chains of the world,
To know once more the Buddha’s code.
I say his name again, in fearful hope,
To be reborn again in the Western Cove.
...
