Breaking Samsara
this is the end of my days even now i know as i bear another spun out star day as my comforts drift like mists and wisps of cloud that dissipate and dissolve into oblivion this poet is my curtain call my redemption my own and only spiritual ovation i will not live again *
Transdimensional Poet 
Sparse yet rich, as ever your words come together like a constellation. This curtain call, it could be the start of a journey as an awakened being.. every door faces two ways after all! I wonder, if there is a time when we can choose, we finally elect to return – for the first time – since ecstacy is a form of suffering, a path of love brings us back to reach out and serve those we love.. to make their burden ..light.. enlightens?
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I mean, if you could save yourself from a burning house wouldn’t you go back to see who else you could bring out with you..?
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Thanks. That’s exactly where I was going with this one.
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Sometimes our poems are sketches, this was a painting.
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Thanks a lot. I was going for a more full bodied approach with this piece. Much of my stuff is verbal sketch work
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