There is a house I built
for my soul to live in.
It is not me or who I am
but I love it all the same.
There is a garden I tend
for my thoughts to dwell in.
A beautiful wall surrounds it
but it cannot contain me.
There is a painting I work on
to reflect a reality.
Splendid colours on a canvas
that hides shades of gray.
In all these things I am
but I am not these things.
A comforting beloved cloak
discarded at the end of humanity.
Yaku 