Lust, or love; some grasp at it for happiness,
but only calamity dwells within the mortal shell,
and thus they march through fire
toward a bright mirage, to find all love inconstant;
the dying body . . .
A real man’s one ambition is to be as straight as steel.
In the heart that is not twisted, the Tao’s a road that runs straight through.
Close-growing, see the bamboo bend beneath the snow,
and know it cannot be in vain to spend the spirit so.
Posted by KWB wandering among the borderlands of the Ether.