I don't have to have a story.

It's difficult to mind the path.
Divide a monk by ten laymen
to find your ten percent.
We are the same five elements.
We are forty sleepless nights.
Feeble. Ferocious.
Brilliant. Boisterous.
Puffed up. Pious.
Ignorant. Vexatious.
Arrogant. Useless.
Liars and loons, lapdogs,
landlubbers and luminaries,
right and wrong,
we are the same.
A dozen orange lilies, eight
pearls and a chunk of coal--
we are the same, clinging;
we are the same, letting go.
Devoted to distraction,
thinking
thinking
thinking,
driven and drowning,
gasping and grasping at air, still
suffering, still minding the words:
love your enemies like yourself,
I don't have to have a story.
We are the same.