Dark and deep within my soul,
The hungry ghost has started to stroll.
Twisting and turning every subtle reed,
Tearing it down, to quench it’s greed.

Wistful Thoughts of my wanton soul

I stand amidst the roar
Of the surf tormented shore
A few grains of sand
I gather into my hand,
How few, yet how they creep
From within my fingers into the deep,
But lo! What’s that within my hold?
The sparkling, dazzling bit of gold
For my search the horizon unfolds,
Or is it just a mirage after all?
The wistful thinking
Of my wanton soul.