Zakuro

I can still hear that soft sound,
Swaying faintly out of my reach.
Stuck in my ears,
So profoundly beautiful,
The beseeching god was killed.

Clouds covered the moon tonight,
And I can feel the warmth fading.
A cold nostalgia, drowning slowly,
Coiling neath cold sad dreams.

Still waiting at the table alone,
The soup has already gone cold.
Like millions of larvae swimming,
In a pond of ceramic white bowl.

I can feel the sound of my heartbeat,
Stopping indeed almost detached.
Ticking toward an exhausting reality,
As I lay on a bed of dirt.

Like a garden of nourishment,
And a place of gentle warmth.
Trickling down every moment,
Devouring and giving me birth.

A prey yet a neglect for pleasure,
Consumed but never approved.
Buried deep in a slumber of luxury,
Starvation slit unto our throat.
Never grasped the rhythmic notes,
And the way of the flesh.
Still walking through cherry petals,
And my future replaced.

If our mind is to be corrupt,
Bewitch me with your gentle caress.
Conquer this night of raging beasts,
And put me to rest.

Still I wait, seeking the warm wind,
With the future before my eyes.
Walking among rounds of applause,
Ordained in blue sky.