Not Truth’s Fault I’m standing at this bar
with all my friends, These
friends that passed away. This is the point of no
return. Should tomorrow bring me
one more day, I’ll never have friends
like them again... We cannot live without
meaninglessness In our
lives, without insignificance. I hope I see them next time
they pass through. There is the fear of not
even Having an essence. Spring shoots turn into
dark summer stalks. Autumn trees bend under
winter snow. Surely, as a passing
mirage, few visions Of the world are more
subtle Than birds, mists and
bodhisattvas Drifting across the sky. 18 December 2009 [Published in Mantra Winds: Poems 2004-2010. © 2010 by Jim
Cohn.] |
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