The soul of my poetry
is like the essence of water
following the same Way
sometimes so real
other times elusive
they can be wonderful
yet hard to understand.
When the Way manifests in my writing
It flows like water
swirling and creating ripples
spilling from the tip of my pen
causing waves from deepest origins.
When the Way manifest in water
Its ripples are mysterious
and hard to catch
Bursting forth like a rainbow
with exquisite colors.
If the Way can be heard
Listen to the murmuring of the spring
If the Way can be seen
Watch the soft mist above a lake
Constantly gathering and departing
No longer can I tell apart
Whether it is the water or my writing
forever changing into endless forms
emerging from some intangible spring
that can erupt suddenly
with full power and majesty
outpouring and stretching
for a thousand miles.