A wise one knows his mission while on earth
involves restructuring his cold beast heart.
He knows this when his sense of inner worth
has fallen lower than he has the art
to chart an upward path. For years he chased,
life aims less lofty than complete retreat
from habit's strongarm clutch. The wretched waste
through which he vows to rise, becomes the peat
where glorious fresh blooms, now grace his plot.
"All is vantiy", the preacher said.
Not one thing survives, not even rot.
and wise ones know that they're already dead.
So why prepare as if Nirvana waits?
The soul's a seed that's sewn beyond the gates.