Hiding in shadows
Playing the game of ghouls
Besting even air
Seek I to pluck muse
When nothing but naught avails
In emptiness, my ears prick
Picking silence, the souvenir of nothingness
In the chill, the will of Wind is found
In glare, the argument of Light emphasized
Unchecked, Fire is a drunkard
Set to purpose, Water; a deaf soldier
The Mountains seem indifferent?
Understand, they have seen it all
Now that muse is found
And silence subdued
Does the voice reading this in your head ask;
“is this why we are here?”
