Ten thousand winding mountain paths,

These aching feet finally gain their rest.

The ten thousand arms of Kannon grant them succour

For ten thousand more paths require navigation.

The snow has been falling, and now fallen.

That temple now a fading, and faded memory.

But those ten thousand arms still clutched me tight

Long enough for Kannon’s second blessing.

Aching bones nag, and nag

Greying strands illustrate many hazardous crossings.

But there is the loving mother Kannon.

Rest here. Journeys end. Loving embrace.


I will probably come back and edit this. For ten minutes on the fly it ain’t half bad. Wrote a lot about Kannon and Sekiro lately, so both subjects where on my mind.


In and through kingfisher green and ancient valleys,

the sight of those red maple leaves signals journeys end.

Every year your temple frays more, and more

while you carve the Buddha more, and more.

While I wait, this poem finds its way onto your wall.

Finish your work. Talking and drinking arrive in their own time.


More Sekiro, more poetry.