Burning Monks

The monks are burning on the street They are protesting the violence of war Pain is not part of their protest Only the pain in the hearts of men who foster war They will become ashes on the street And be swept up into the winds of eternity Where are these universal souls? How do we contact them? Are they lying in the streets of Siagon? Are they blowing in the Saharan winds? Are they infused into everything we breath? I want to feel their commitment Feel their strength. They came out of their temples To show us the truth Not in the palm of a hand Or in the tea leaves of a cup But in true human commitment. I cannot imagine that commitment I live in the shadow of society And the pressures of a common man Work to eat, live to play, pretend to be content But are any of us truly content? I look through the yellow windows of a commuter train Watching the people march down the streets to their lives And what does it mean? The bankers and the money men have won We have become assimilated and numb. I can’t do it anymore so I put on my robes I walk outside and sit in my temple of stones I light the fire and watch it burn It creeps closer and I try and forget the pain Mantra, mantra, mantra……..God it hurts Take my mind from this world Free my body and my soul I am joining the living dead.