Where Do I Go?

Where do I go 
when the trees die, 
when the ponds dry? 
I fear I may not meet my parents 
across the sea. 
Woud I still see my siblings 
before the river? 
I want to remember everything I have now, 
and pretend to take a sip at the river 
which I must stop before crossing the bridge. 

I hope the candles will lit 
when I walk down the dark road, 
and burn all the unrest spirits 
disrupting my journey: 
It all depends on my deeds. 

How much blood do I have to give? 
And how many level of earth 
do I have to travel 
before it matches my sin? 

If the light visited and led me to my parents, 
Or darkness blinded me created by my being 
and fall into the seventeenth level of fire, 
All I asked from you, whoever you maybe 
Is to hold onto my hands, don't let go.


3 March 2008, Monday
4:28pm