It makes no sense that I can tell
Handed tools of absolute wisdom
I crave the depths of such truth
Beyond words or mindfulness
And yet a sorrowful seed exists
What of this place, this imperfect
Insane & beautiful plane?
Its real, I know this much
It is not separate, absolutely
Is my sorrow only fear disguised?
Why does it have a hold on me
When pure lands are ahead and not behind?
And why does this path feel so lonely at times?
3rd December 2007