My journey began in spring <br />when my heart prayed for salvation. <br />I decided to enter the Buddhist Temple <br />where Li Cheng lives a pure life. <br />All summer I trudged wet roads, <br />leaving villages and memories behind. <br />By autumn I reached the foot hills <br />and labored upward <br />as colored leaves swirled down. <br />Breathless, I looked up and saw <br />peak against peak against peak <br />and the narrow road disappearing <br />into mist and snow. <br />Now, at the beginning of winter, <br />I have reached Li Cheng's Temple. <br />Barren winds have stripped the trees. <br />Green trees have become thorn trees. <br />They are skeletons clinging to dead rock, <br />their branches are the shattered bones. <br />The Temple rises, in its dark beauty, <br />from a nearby summit. A stone slab <br />marks the memory of my friend. <br />I cry with the ten thousand things.<br /><br />Daniel Brick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/buddhist-temple-in-the-mountains/
