Sunday, February 27, 2011


It is, but a journey
To unknown.

Sometimes together with,
And next to alone;
Here is a hope, and
There is despair, to another door.

Whether to reach, or to
Losing in nowhere;
Shall we meet, the good or
Bad, in such a long run?

Whether be the great, or
Mere be the fun;
Or we be lost, as
A child, in the fair.

Turmoil is the world
But peace is where?
Heed to store and store,
The wealth is so dear;
No cares the none,
As the good are rare.

A streak in the dark,
Is better than daylight;
As the dawn after the night,
Is healthier than the twilight.

It passes, through the
Shrubs, rocks and plain,
And enters in the meadow,
With a short while gain.

And again at once disappears,
But who knows where;
Alas! clear light is yet ,
To be lighted there.

As it begins with innocence,
And develops in illusions;
Oft ends in defeat to,
Some dark, and wide regions.

Love is, the first praise
To young but hate to the end;
Before the domineering that,
All is nothing but to bend.

Have I seen more, and
A lot yet to be seen;
Whether the flower be fade,
Or it be the green;

Others smile by one’s task,
Is one’s success sure?
Whatever comes the World
We shall have to endure.

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