I remembering the cost of arrogance
I think about the reasons for my pain
Never not wondering over my flaws
The driving madness, the burning throes
Of the insane rhyme, no single cause
All I have is a powerful endurance
With wounds without count
Life is a struggle
But not for any falsehood
I remain true to my sincerity
My mind dances with hurt
A ritual elaborate, with elegance
I stare off into the white haze
As sorrows mount
I'm nothing in life's pageant
No worth as a creative
My life's been a collection of mistakes
I have endured without talent
To have success would mean
I must have made a deal with Satan
My overall hope is lacking, I'm forsaken
I know who I am inside and even as I do
No matter the sorrow, I reject suicide
Waiting for the call to enter
The finality of existence
“CROWS CALLING AT NIGHT
Yellow clouds beside the walls; crows roosting near.
Flying back, they caw, caw; calling in the boughs.
In the loom she weaves brocade, the Qin river girl.
Made of emerald yarn like mist, the window hides her words.
She stops the shuttle, sorrowful, and thinks of the distant man.
She stays alone in the lonely room, her tears just like the rain.”
