When we are alone,
and our masks crumble,
we are confronted by the mirror.
So close...
you could reach out and touch
your self.
Your sickly reflection
stares back into you, and you are struck by
the confrontation between souls.
Break the mirror, and you will only be left with ****** knuckles.
Break yourself, however, and you will be born anew.

Silence gets dreary, some days.
The light tickles the eye in just the same way,
yet the voice of hope inhabits the quiet;
it becomes silence itself.
Then, reality gets a little more jarring.
Still, unquiet moments below the moon
will surprise me, and remind me that
the man I was is dead. He whispers,
"Revel in rebirth, and someday this will all
appear an unpleasant dream."

The glassy waters are chillier today;
the contagion of reds, golds, and browns
has spread from within, and the ancient ones
experience the slow ecstasy of death.
Winds of a harvest moon slow on the forest murk,
and a tide below the surface will become
a tsunami against an invincible cliff.
Release thyself to the flow
of eternity in infinity
and you will be reborn
by yourself and for yourself,
one with reality in ten dimensions.

The flash flood of euphoria,
is swallowed by the thirsty ground,
eternally unquenched.
I will smile,
and fix my eyes on the desert sun.
I will grow roots and bloom,
an endogenous cactus,
while envious drifters lick the sand,
desperate for a drop of rain.

No names are eternal,
for their users are infinite.
And all things will become the next things,
and the cycle of changes will never end.
What you must accept,
in the intrinsic pursuit of happiness,
is that change is not the exception.
It is the only constant
in a world that does not care what you cling to.
It will take away what was never yours to have;
your illusory part in all things, in all times, in all places.

Silence doesn't come easily anymore;
we have abandoned ourselves
in favor of slot machines.
I have grown weary of spinning bells,
colored lights, and empty words.
Patience is my companion now,
and serenity follows closely behind.
I will walk the path alone,
and revel in the company of stillness,
as wanderlust guides me deeper
into the woods.

Forged in suffering,
and quenched by discipline,
we become strong.
A wall of swords is built
at the limits of our minds;
sometimes, we ***** ourselves,
and tumble headfirst into the
desolation of sleep.
It is no matter.
Venus will disarm Mars,
the blades will turn to roses,
a crown of blooming thorns;
entrancingly beautiful,
and twice as deadly.