"Grinding your life to dust"

Grinding your life to dust
like bones from a funeral pyre.

Like everything else you do
almost perfect, 99 per cent.

The pain of conditioned existence,
that only Buddhists feel...

Is it today again?
Am I here?
Who’s keeping track…
when and why?

The truth is lost in
a house of mirrors.

The more you think you
know, the more lost you are.

Another night in an empty room,
“as if I were not my own…
forgotten...even by me.”

We’ll all go that way, like it
or not, at least at death.