I admit it’s true
I adore the form Haiku
Now wonder, do you?
Technicality:
One line should be a season
Like Spring, Summer, Fall.
Winter missed the line,
But who cares, it’s just Haiku,
There is no meaning.
Or is there? Hidden?
Nestled in 5, 7, 5?
Perhaps deeper thought?
This, a Haiku Chain;
Form of my own creation,
Verse creating form.
Called a word, “story”,
The last verse, feeding the next,
Just like any tale.
Raindrops on a page;
Ink that never runs or fades,
Rainbow reflection.
Did we find it yet?
The reason, purpose, meaning?
Yes. No. Neither. Both.
That last line, Buddhist;
The ultimate state, empty,
Everything and… not.
I admit, it’s true,
This is but a playful ruse,
Impermanent time.