Zen

High above the valley,
the air itself is split
as the eagle with its harsh cry
circles its prey.

High in the mountains,
a temple nests there.
And in the place of sanctuary there is a monk,
chanting sutra; reciting prayers.

In his robes of crimson and saffron,
with his beads of wisdom and humility,
he reflects upon his life
and feels at peace with the world around him.

With his eyes closed,
bloodless lips forming the words required
he slips into oblivion
a truly peaceful state.

Zen.

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