We are all creative
and beautiful in speech.
Yet, somehow tied
to a certain nature.
Eventually, this kills
all that is loved.
Like a river cut off
from its source –
the river eventually dies.
All the more reason
to hear the music
of life and death.
To follow an empty path.
To be measured in my steps.
To show kindness
to all living things.
Yet, still bearing the marks
of a wandering poet.