To succeed in zen.

Howl and sweetly dream
Of the wild, the homeland north
Where the cold wind blows

If I’m dear to you
Lament at my cunning side
before the long sleep

September Love Song
She is perfectly beautiful in September.
Her golden skin meshed with the grace of the autumns genesis,
angeleic tendencies blessed by the sender,
mortal only because of God's selflessness.

I she allowed to be more than an admirer,
the whole wealth of heaven poured into her presence.
A fool would compare her to stars or white fire,
for neither burns properly next to her lips reverance.

Let's laugh together silky and hot,
a fuel for our pairing both fitting and clever,
for the Septembers dealt are a limited lot,
and the purest gold leaf will not stay so forever.

Eulogy (Requiescat in pace)
I shall mourn in Arcadia.
Where ancestors taught the ignorant young where to walk on pathless earth.
Where the water is flawless, and dancing, and humble rocks hold a legitimate sapphires reverance.
Here I find a testimate to regal love.
Do you remember, though you are but a silouette, my fondness of your words?
Words that exclaimed that the pinnacle prize was "merely" a salvation from lunacy.
Words, that would spawn the mental inferno, and were deviously social.
Though your form may now be shadow, there is still breath in the scattered devout.
For the containment of that romance is an impossibilty of being, as is the containment of my infinite passion.

Honour me by blood,
held in the bushido cut,
fate is yours or mine.