SAND MANDALA

 

I'm dispersed

spread out

fleeting

breath of the moment.

 

Frighteningly mismatched

reality seems.

I sew it back,

weaving together the pieces of a world that is gone.

 

A sand mandala,

transience.

Who are you when the wind blows you away?

Who are you when you pass into nothingness?

 

What is the thread of your stitch

When you mend, weave a new one,

stitching the holes of a torn reality?

 

Without me, the world is broken, splintered, 

lost in the collapse of the whole.

I am the decay - I am the thread.

I am the decomposition of the world.

 

I'm steaming, I'm sparring

to a thread without end.

I am a thread without a loop,

I am a thread of decay.

 

I'm dispersed

spread out

fleeting

breath of the moment.

 

I am nothing - of everything.