find always the way to fuse the time in the
memory of what is genuine, neither the season
of the beginning dew welcome the horizon
of the infinite reality of being
let the flower bloom in what is the given
memory of each birth, all have just come the
wonderful day of what is today, see the hold
on movement of what the wonderful stream
the river full
gallops the sky, for the rain waited to long, the
weathering flower has fall into the ground and
rejuvenate the meaning of life, stay where the
olden passion of the heart, for what meant to
be with you tell forever, looks forward the
ending of what thirst in a given time
ending have nothing to say the beginning of
every fog in early morning ……
Antonio Liao
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sword-of-the-spirit/
