The Change


The boiling storm shoots its thunder towards me, but I am untouchable yet – so I still walk.

A wind moves itself with infinite momentum to whip me into the trumpeting gales – so I still walk.

The constant movement of the earth tries to distance itself from the only treasure which I am aiming for with my steps, yet the constant grandeur makes it slow – so I still walk.

The crying maples weep their sweet honey – yet I still walk.

The gracing mountains move aside with the greatest of pities – but I must walk.

Must I walk? The sweet rivers flow through my goal and still overlap me with its cool sting.

How can I walk?

It is too late.


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