The seat of Purity

Where does it flow from?

The sound

containing the meaning,

being floated by ebb tide,

being buoyed on air,

and finally falling down into bottom.

However,

it leisurely drift on the wind

and amusing itself.

Meantime,

it collides with living things,

and disperses softly influenza to infect them.

The sound rising up a sound,

The sound over a sound

flowing again into somewhere,

How does it happen?

Is the sound infected?

Why does it flow unconsciously?

Neither head knows,

Nor heart knows,

Only Heaven knows,

Just as it makes the sound flow.

The air complies with it,

Riding on the rhythm,

It conveys the sound to my ear.

What slowness means to me :

The excess of time?

The romantic leisure?

The careful meditation?

These are just

exceedingly luxurious

and a extravagancy to me.

The slowness to me

is

a consistent pride,

a heartbreaking struggle,

a clinging cost of agony

striving to achieve and endeavoring not to miss.

Still

I am dragged

by the slowness,

as exhausting myself.

Around the pupil of the eye like crystal

which is stuck in the bright smiling face,

the thing spreading reddishly

is

the reddish sky of earlier evening which contains sunset.

Soon,

as if it bursts into rain,

Yet

the pathetic effort of the muscle made from quiet winkle,

and smiling around mouth

prevents the rain from pouring down.

Piling up and up,

and being clear and clear,

the lake contains the wordless words,

and makes the tears piling up

in the heart of others.

The tears filled in her eyes

which cannot be pumped

with either millions of words

or billions of words

spread into the eyes of others,

are piled up again,

and make the sky reddish,

unawarely.

The eyes are crying

on smiling effort.