Monday, January 22, 2018

Seven Years' Fallen Words

I am a doctor.
Poems are my patients.
I’m curious about how
I can help. Gently!

Cup of sorrow, let me be.
Long enough my guts
Have been filled with gall.

I’ve a passionate desire
To breathe the air of freedom,
To live a real life
And not be a prisoner

Before I die. But all air,
Real and free, goes up in smoke.
This is the teaching.

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