the ego walks through
this world in
tatters &
scars.
so many slashing days
& piercing
nights.
but the ego’s
merely an
experiment, a
way to say i
am
learned from our
elders, some
times many
generations
old.
the brambles of ex
perience make the
soul bleed & the
memory
ache.
how else but in the
crucible of pain can
we expect to change
anything in our unbending
lives?
this is the alchemy that
purifies the heart to
gold & the karma
that repays old & ancient
debts.
how else but in
proud tatters can
i come to kiss
you?
how else but in
streaming tatters do we
ever become
whole?