Rise with fierce resolve.
Life’s hardships are temple bells,
ringing you awake.
A sword left unsheathed,
cuts through the illusions deep;
truth sharpens the blade.
Chop wood, carry water—
the mountain bows to effort,
not to idle pleas.
Fire cannot burn one
who steps forward, undeterred,
into the bright flame.
Each breath, each footfall,
finds the Way in dust and sweat;
this world is the path.
This poem was previously published in Zen Bow