LAST CYCLE © 2008
To be an enlightened soul, capable of recording the feeling,
Is, in truth, to be a tormented spirit, a fiery seasoning.
Which, when used in the dish of life, boils in its essence,
But merely deceives the palliative it serves to itself.
Deep down, the wound remains, bare and exposed,
In the yearning for a remedy that never touches.
While the fervour seasons the passing days,
The soul seeks the cure, but the pains gag it.