Village in Tibet

Still
The most fixed of hearts
Vision-filled
Blinded not
Having drifted into the paths
Of many
Too many
Oncoming realities

Sometimes
The most skilled oracle
Caution-filled
Gifted so
Cannot shapeshift the wills
Of we
Predestined we
Hope artists

Perceptions

The Sun, as she sets, sighs to the New Moon:
“You’ve the right to not love me, but I fell to your swoon.”

That Tide, ebbing slowly, seems to tease the gold Shore:
“I’ve welcomed your warmth but I seek Something more.”

In the meantime, Earth’s Hearts sense these rhythmic rains;
“We’ll dance, most courageous, with Passion and Pain.”