167. Emptying Formless

The birds were birds,

The trees were trees,

And I was Me.

But waves came ashore,

They were all no more,

That much I can be sure.

Sheer will burned all form,

Yet, why is there this storm?

The birds no longer birds,

The trees no longer trees,

I am no longer me,

Or so I thought to be.

With heaven here,

Giving permission,

To envelop all of me.

The birds sang as I stepped home,

The trees hugging me in their shade,

And I'm no longer threatening me.

Form had to return,

For it to meet it's end,

As both burn away as one.