Every morning and night I chant for understanding and peace, to help my way along the path as a human being.

The beads flow though my fingers as all 108 repetitions of the mantra are cycled.

Yet I still contemplate afterword the suffering I see within and abroad.

And even when I know there is no Higher Power I still offer my tears, warm and fresh, cupped in my hands to the sky and the earth.

Will my measly offering ever appease anything, or will my sorrows be recycled into the stream that never ceases?