Diary of a Buddha

Posted on

Yesterday you saw my face
You told me I was a disgrace
Now and the when I see you smile
I sit and ponder it for a while
What kind of line am I supposed to trace?
Why do I feel like I’m always on trial?

Forget it, forget it the martyr has died
gone and ashes, no soul inside
From your gnashing white teeth
my blood drips beneath

You push my whitewashed grace aside
And place your sword back in your sheath.

January 25, 2003