Oh to not break any thing -
Then would birds sing!
But then would there be no room,
No womb
From which birds spring.
To and fro they bring
The balm and the sting -
The tomb
Is the womb
To which the hurt cling.
Ding a ling! ding a ling!
What have you got, what do you bring?
What comes from your catacomb,
Oh loom
Of Spring?
I am the broken thing
That won’t ring
Yet will loom
With an unsounded boom
Until we take wing.
本勒 wrote @ 1, 11 October 2007 at 6:01 am
we are all broken things
we are all in the tomb
but Light comes as spring
for “Spring is not a season,
it is the heart of Amida Nyorai’
The womb, the lotus bud,
nurtured in Light,as a bird
in it’s safe, precious egg.
we are all broken things,
but we are all in the womb.
dharmavidya wrote @ 1, 11 October 2007 at 3:57 pm
Thank you
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