Gaze into the mirrored face
of the aging drunk man.
See the blurred innocence of
the departed boy. There are
no other worlds to conquer.
This one holds danger enough.
War, women and whiskey
dance their destruction.
We only get the face we earn.
A man becomes what
a man does, but sometimes
that can’t be helped.
Eternally recurring Mulligan,
of boundless hope.
The turning Dharma wheel.
Perhaps a thousand more
lives must be lived
to undo this doing, to
break the bonds of Karma,
to finally sink into
the warm, welcoming
arms of peace.
A weary trek but worthy.