Many years in this world,
And I am not yet immortal.
Wandering through,
A thousand lives,
of sun-kissed lands,
Deep dark rivers,
Of opaque glass,
Tall grass so green,
it hurts your eyes.
Borderlands, flatlands,
where dust devils thrive.
Tasted time, sipped on wine,
still not immortal.
Loved cooks, changed looks,  
inserted myself into history books.
(at least I tried)
Now here I am yet still alive,
Head in the clouds,
to view my skies,
Nope,
Still not immortal.

It is a promise unfulfilled,
To which now I humbly view,
The rugged climbing jasmine vine,
Relies daily on the dew.

No doubt this inconstancy,
May be difficult to find,
So tangled are my morning thoughts,
As the jasmine’s skyward climb.

beneath the liquid ripple
of water passing endless
pleasant over pebbles
I stop to listen to the stream
and fleeting as the breeze
my thoughts were lost
amongst my ease
now only the gray-faced moon
does sojourn at my sleeve

My evenings umbra
stood watching
The nights damp
sweet falling
breathing lone sighs
and calling
the sky's departure
of dew.
Diluting loose tears,
in a fountain
of fears
where my fate
spread supine
in a cascade
of time
to ponder my present
tableau.

You are not forgotten
though,
my thoughts are bare *****
hollow
like small veins of dried flowers
pressed
between pages of a book
coaxed
at times by tender thoughts
forward
To recall your lovely form
Waiting
Folded open in my mind