There is a strange tension between
the hunger for more and the taste of enough,
as if the sky itself, after a thousand sunsets,
could still be persuaded to give a little more.
And so we lean into the world,
hoping it will whisper secrets
that might unlock the door
to the house of eternal satisfaction.
But listen, pleasure is a guest,
not the owner of the house,
which is where we sit for now,
our feet on the ground, the moment intact.
I have seen people chase the light
only to find the shadows waiting,
as if the moon were another hunger
in disguise, promising something it cannot keep.
The pleasure we seek is always a visitor,
arriving with a laugh and a fleeting glance,
yet the house remains, steady as always,
quietly holding everything we have forgotten.
YOU ARE READING
21 Poems Of Reflection
PoetryA compilation of reflective poems I wrote upon reading Miyamoto Musashi's book Dokkōdō (The Way of Walking Alone). The 21 principles in his book inspired me to write the poems you're about read here.
