Noise filters through
Cracks in
Our walls,
Filling us with
Incomprehensibility;
The world can seem so wrong.

In the middle of the bustling city
There exists a shrine.
The faded green, tinted tiled roofs,
A semblance of the natural
Amidst space dead grey;
Repose so full of beauty, peace,
Come home — it calls to all.

These spiritual grounds evoke
Unity with nature — its movements
Swift and imperfect,
Its space — open and
Clean as the crest of a wave.

A wind drifts through with ease
Giving a voice to the leaves,
Life to the trees,
Meaning to the people of this city.

Its mysteries shine as arcane as the soul,
For its soul is ours.

I find myself at the shrine
Amidst tumultuous times.
Yet are they so different from
What has always been.

Life seldom makes sense.

Here, I grasp greater understanding —
What it all may truly mean.
Serenity of the shrine,
Deeper than the false
Echo of the noise.