Leaking Pen (Wellington, New Zealand)
On the long narrow road
Up hill, and down steep ravines
Path with no borders
Shelters absent in the deep
Wild winds reign supreme.
Whose land is this land?
Although born from this land
Refuge stamped on my soul,
In Rome do I need to do as the Romans?
I need to unfold these folds,
Not from fear or lack of courage
Or lack of conviction or innocence,
Or precious morality or lack of love
Like vesture in the dark
Where light temporarily is put away.
Whose green forest lies ahead?
Whose flowing rivers roll like giant footsteps?
Whose fields yield most harvest?
Whose deserts ignite the deepest solitude?
Whose oasis is dotted with most palms?
Whose lungs freely expand all chests?
Whose heads with eyes the word yes?
Whose reflection the mirrors shine?
Whose guide steadies the footsteps?
Whose bridge connects the sides?
Eternal circle of life
No beginning no end no fused breaks
When I die, I free my soul.
When I wither, I heal.
I am one beam for the next light.
In turn the new light intern will
Beam the next light.
Copyright Leaking Pen 2013
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