520 – Unthreaded Sutra

Broken Buddhas
Piled up in the gutter,
Their rusting faces
Staring at the sky.

Soiled scriptures
Flutter in the breeze,
Golden letters fading
With the rain.

The burning temples
Illuminate the night,
Ashes mixed with incense
Slowly wash away.

All teachers gone,
All vows broken,
All relics desecrated,
Nothing sacred left.

Nothing was ever sacred.
Relics are just consecrated trinkets.
Vows are nothing but words.
Teachers also piss and shit.

It’s not cynical,
Just true.

Anything called sacred
Was, is, and will be,
All inside
Your head.

• • •

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