The Weight of Abundance

In each room, shadows linger,  

clinging like whispers to dust.  

The heart weighs heavy with things,  

a marble altar of what I've loved,  

yet every object a chain  

binding me closer to the ground.

I wander through these offerings,  

held hostage by what I’ve collected,  

clutching regrets like tight-rope  

walkers, suspended in the air—  

how can I untie myself,  

give back the mirrors I once held?

When did my spirit grow weary,  

burdened by the ceaseless wanting,  

filling my arms with what does not  

matter, what will turn to decay  

under the slow hand of time?  

My table is piled high with silence.

I see the wise, their empty bowls,  

stories flowed like rivers between  

each gaze, laughter spilling like prayer,  

they have given their lives away,  

like stars tremble, burning,  

their light a gift of exquisite grace.

To live is to lose what I clutch,  

to embrace the vastness of yearning,  

to dissolve in the expanse of dark,  

where nothing is held but breath,  

and the faith that unspools through  

the lips, letting go of everything.