Ancient times of blood soaked pacifists.
Rigorous activities cultivate in fires of insanity.
Temples look upon daily customs of love.

Seas of head-shaven monks meditate peacefully.
Their heads as clean as spiritual morality.
If only morality didn’t have a warrior’s past.

The body is rippled in self discipline.
The soul dreams through forgotten nightmares.
The mind clears itself of egoism.

The glimmer of wetness reflects on presence.
Jagged rocks form upon its enlightening path.
The sky is a pure and innocent baby blue.

Carefully carved stones create sanctuaries of Buddha.
Visitors begin the long journey on stairs.
They are greeted near pillars of blissful openings.

One finds balance of earth’s natural grasp.
Persistent time drifts into undifferentiated nothingness.
Freedom’s glimmer walks through constant darkness.

The soul whispers heavenly tones.
One can almost hear its soft breath.
Serenity.