O, Bosatsu

Falling all around me
Are remnants of the sky
Like glittering gemstones
Clouds whimpering in pain, pinned to place by gravity
Their porous white bodies not quite fluffy or soft
Delicately flowing clear blood
Mingles with the shattering air
The odor of fear sweeping up that of beauty

O, Bosatsu, lend me the strength of heart
Needed to piece the sky back together
With thread from the soul
And a needle born of Jealousy’s ravaging hands
So that I may mend those wounds
And make right the infidelities unseen

Crumbling from my fingertips
Are the remains of a heart
Delicate as the flowers she such loved
Petals unraveling and falling away, lamenting that day
Their color softly fading
Without their sweet nectar
Chasing away any dreams we might have shared
No such presence among what remains

O, Bosatsu, lend me the tenderness of Man
So that I may no longer lust for the gold of fools
Which will only serve to disappoint
And persuade me to take a darker path to make right these wrongs
So that I may see clearly
And understand what is now before me

Dying within these hands
Is something beautiful
A butterfly with melancholy blue wings
So innocent and naïve, but somehow corrupted
Weaves vibrant patterns in her lightless eyes
The broken sky her loom
Pieces and parts becoming the whole
It is as it was before

O, Bosatsu, but it is not the same.