September 8th 1998
Ah, the wonder of passing time
whisking away the thoughts of patience
can you not help but wonder
what life has in store?
Sandpaper images are all I find
seemingly corrosive to every second
the guilt of innocence of what pains me
why is it so?
A stream of a river
beautiful mountain of blessed memory
have no place
in the disciplined and trained mind
And once having realized the fact
I crumple up the sandpaper images
and then do I realize that my hands are scratched
and begin to bleed
Where was the beauty in that?
how could I have been so blind?
I canít bear to think of the consequences
of shutting out ones emotions
what do you see?
how do you feel?
Therein can most questions truly be answered.
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