For the wind
to blow on tomorrow
there has to be
currents
from yesterday
I sit as the captain
of my own little
mind
absorbing
the thoughts
of today
Like why wait
for the old emperor
who is content
to be part of the sea
I think he feels sorry
for those souls that miss their own sunset
while tending his tree
I do not know their special karma
or anything about their daily toil
but when the boxes arrive with good faith flowers
they all have to be thrown away
I have been cursed to be a watcher
a writer
which means
something
very grey
When painting all thoughts of life
within the milky strive
Remember it is all
part of the play
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