Blindly we fumble our way through the pines.
To orient our bodies and guide our souls
Toward our lofty goals, and around potholes.
Then along come the fellers, to desecrate our shrines.
Give man free will, and he will find a way
To bludgeon another, or to bring them down
To the Earth which he has divvied up all around.
The Tao is lost. We have led ourselves astray.
I lay bare my thoughts to no congregation.
Fragmented and disparate, here they manifest.
They languish and bleed and all leave this bequest:
“Heaven was here, before its mutilation.”
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