Torched

One moment, cloud nine;
the next burning depths.
What logic is there
in opinion as fickle as the seasons?

How did it change?
From one season to another.
Do we really have a say
in the way nature wield it's sword?

Cling not.
The masters advise this.
But what can cling on to anything
when it doesn't exist?

So wherein does the fire arise,
that burns everything to dust.
And grabs on to every next
desire as its food.

Sitting,
observing,
noting the cycles.
While the fire burns away.

Burn the desire.