China Jon's Syncretic Journal

My guest has gone with a carefree sigh,
and breezes swirl fragrant garden flowers.
Around the patio their fallen petals lie,
to be washed away by evening showers.

I have not the heart to sweep them away.
Their beauty soon enough disappears.
Like Spring like summer like an autumn day,
their luster will pass, though stained with tears.

Near my home is a shopping mall
with goods from near and far.
Window shoppers both short and tall
seek jackets and scarves and cinnabar.

Such lovely girls walk past my tower
but none of them can wear my heart
pinned to her breast like a yellow flower.
No, my love is of a deeper art.

Gone, my Queen of the Autumn Wind
who’s trumpeters play all night.
Their triumph sings to the breaking dawn
of a new day filled with glorious light.

Her Autumn fragrance lingers still
and weeping willows whisper her name.
Both soft green moss where dew drops spill
and summer breezes share her fame.

There is a statue with tears in its eyes,
Standing near an ice blue sea.
And clouds of pink wander azure skies
but know not when she’ll return to me.

Bronze tears upon a bronze face
will never be redeemed -
A leaden heart can be saved by grace
but not by the siren’s song.

Such pitiful withered orchids lie
upon the field where lovers danced
beneath a moonlit lover’s sky.
At the others the lovers glanced,
not believing that love could die.

Heaven has a feeling heart,
yet a thousand years have passed.
Lapping waves have kissed the shore
waiting for a love to last,
for a lonely ten thousand more.

It’s true that the moon’s grown old.
It sleeps in desolation.
It’s true what you hear it tales untold
but it’s no consolation.

The stone bridge took me roaming
though the wind was cutting and cold.
The sea waves chilly foaming
will wash clean my dreams grown old.