Waves of Impermanence

I.

By the edge of the sea stands a temple of wood,

Its beams worn smooth by salt and time.

Seagulls chant sutras in the wind—

No wall is permanent, no roof immune.

Even stillness sways with the tide.

II.

Morning fog wraps the bell in silence.

A single chime drifts across the foam,

Echoing the breath of those long gone—

So light, so brief,

Like mist evaporating in dawn.

III.

Monks sweep sand from the threshold,

Though the wind returns it each night.

Such is the way of all things—

No gesture holds forever,

Yet each is done with care.

IV.

The rocks below are scarred and smooth,

Etched by centuries of patient waves.

So too are we—

Shaped by time, softened by sorrow,

Our edges worn into meaning.

V.

A lantern flickers in the temple’s heart,

Fed by oil soon to run dry.

Still it burns,

Knowing its fate,

Lighting the path for another.

VI.

The cherry tree blooms beside the gate,

A brief, unburdened celebration.

It asks no why,

Only opens fully,

Then lets its petals fall.

VII.

From this cliff, the ocean is endless,

The temple, a breath on the wind.

We come, we bow,

We vanish—

But the waves keep chanting home.