One afternoon, in the
Forbidden City,
People roam about --
Sightseeing.
The very next morning,
A single line of tracks
Through freshly fallen snow
Cuts across the very
Same yard.
Forbidden [Free Verse]
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Mountains are the
Lamborghini of weather --
from gray and dismal to
gloriously sunny
and back again
in record time.
It may rain and the droplets
burn off before noon,
leaving no trace of
the gloom.
One day may feel
multiple ways before
the sun goes down.
The human mind isn't
built for such whiplash
emotional experience.
The light of day's end
brings out the sandy
grit of the arid
landscape.
The light of day's end
matches & compounds
the color of the
desiccated vegetation.
The light of day's end
turns the world
into someplace new --
somewhere I've never
been before.
My body knows this is
nothing like Mars;
my mind does not.
From the dark depths
of a temple,
eyes open & blink
against the sunlight
pouring through
a narrow second set
of eyes.
What shapes form across
the way?
It's the roof of a second --
more ancient -- temple
that stands across
the street.
This monk has opened
eyes on that view a
thousand times before,
and each time has
forgotten the centuries
old neighboring temple
existed.