Twice As Bright

A passion consumes me. The mystic predicts
creation, destruction, endless desire.
It will bend iron to tools, and then fuel sticks
that sit in wait on my funeral pyre.
Words broke from my tongue, and to you I bequeath:
signs of sorrowful pleasure and heresy.
Swallowed whole below my funeral wreath,
chaotic attachments remain my legacy.
When joss paper is burnt, will I be reborn
an asura to wander the mountain’s gate?
Wrestling our envy of gods, peace forsworn,
discontentment with life— is that my soul’s fate?
Or will I in vow of silence take, adorned
in my heart ablaze, suffering for innate?

Mar. 31, 2021

The path into the light seems dark,
the path forward seems to go back,
the direct path seems long,
true power seems weak,
true purity seems tarnished,
true steadfastness seems changeable,
true clarity seems obscure,
the greatest art seems unsophisticated,
the greatest love seems indifferent,
the greatest wisdom seems childish.