In my room
a small forest
surrounds a piano

Their leaves
when I play
turn the pages

Melodies of passing valleys
Pine smelling vines
Water drops

Then
I boil some water
to fill a flower-printed teapot
with dried lavender

Tea taste
of piano melody
wanders in the forest

When the sky changes its colors
Red, rose, orange, yellow inclining light to dark blue
It covers all our busy life and sends a sign
Introducing a slide to another world

Reserved only
Once a day

So at every time
Until the last day of my life
I will just let myself plunge
When encountering this sight

In eastern and western
northern and southern regions
in the world

A story that comes
from long ago
to never end

The story of
a hero

The one who
is pulled by unknown power of nature
and who
finally, embraces that power
to be the giant nature

Same story
born in every human

Eager
to search a missed piece of oneself
as a question to complete the mission of vital-being

We discover who we are
Seeing the hero deep in mind

In the darkness and calmness
I pull my awaken body up
to turn on the first light.

And it starts.

The first signal twinkles
like fireflies
around a gray branch of a floated sea tree.

Now turning to the opposite side

I let the second light on
a glass lamp light with piled Himalayan sea salt
like morning sunlight through translucent clouds.

Still calm
but my space has arisen
with notes of some sea
and some forest by light.

In my secret space
I call my own morning
celebrating another day opening.

Too much thinking.

My room might get a bomb and throw the disorder
in my head.

Crashed left
Crushed right

I was running, running
not knowing what happens
as I couldn't understand
as nobody understood me

Tired
Torn

But just kept running, running
as it was the only thing that I could do
as it was the only way to mirror myself falling down

At that time
Tortured

But at the bottom of myself
something that handled me
My other voice

Enduring
you will get your wings
Inside of you
A growing butterfly

Make a shell
Nurture

The dazzling butterfly
waiting for its time

Who lied that the moon hung only in the sky?

I poured the moon in my teacup.
It was floating.

Mouthful moonlight.
Glorious celebration of an orchestra
from scattered crickets.