This terracotta urn
contains the ashes...

The tree, the sky, the moon, of
summer prick the eyes...

A saddened rain dropp
strikes me at the face...

The enlightment drops words, things
I am at peace with the light...

Beyond the thoughts,
nothing I mourned...

The cult
catches you...

The spirit of hollow ideal
was not the thing...

Beyond the self,
is the freedom, unchained dawn...

A cyan globe
rolling in the black sky...

Forgetting the ultimate name
of clean truth...

Loneliness of non-being and,
reality, fill up the vessel...

Life gives you a sudden shock,
with ugly scars of mutilated truth...