Each morning,
I raise a mirror to my life.
A young bride, slowly
drawn by the chains of death.
And then clouds floating low
The world as usual,
all in place.

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I looked up,
and saw a future.
Only a star left for memory
and another for longing.
With my head hung down,
I will take it gladly.
The nearest thing
to being alive, today.

A bird sits, by a summer mountain
– showing hopelessness.
One, two, three, four…
how many nights
crying in a sad mood.
Yet, the winter snow will come.
And we start off, again –
to look for another memory.

A picture taken yesterday on my last day in South Korea 

On this white wind sky,
there is no death; there is no life.
Only a place, and a desire
to rise – and set off for the sea
One more time.

Outside, the moon of summer.
Evening shadows,
steal across the city.
The night and I,
grow dark as one.
Is this reality?
I am at peace.

nor

nor

fznor

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In the rainy day,
pours and pours
of sorrowful tears.
The drum bangs,
at the memory
of the good old days.
A slave of death
deceased long ago.
Yet, still touching
every painful heart.
That floods out
onto the dark
streets of Seoul.

Long ago I left,
a lonely life.
On a narrow path
and wall papered black.
And still….
lonely things come.
But now white light,
on a barren face.
And hope lit
with bright rays.

Summer rain falls,

at Donuimun Village.

All the children

shrouded in white plastic

Firmly grasping the

hands of their mother’s.

In the days when the body

has a youthful heart and mind.

And  a right and left hand path.