Glowing past, 
events of silver grapes, 
hiding the answer of 
				who we are
			where should we stay 
			    how can we enter
			 					the temple of May?


											  May, 
my spring heart, 
				blooming flowers of eternity 
expressing time through chirping birds,
						my loving songs of mended memories.

Memories,
		 who I was, 
					not who I am,
					     		 might be who I will be. 

Falling crystal secrets of our past 
						
						b
						r
						e
						a
						k 

				as time ends my
											   May, 
	summer comes, and circles become 
				 who I was 
			   not who I am
			   who I could be
			  as slowly I die
			    	  .
			    	  .
			    	  .
			    	  .
			    	  .

										   	   May, 
my loving pulsations, 
				glowing stars of infinity, 
expressing peace through 
						our veins of love.

May is our internal spring; the place that unites us with love. The glowing grapes are what we believe is important, our memories and secrets of the past. At the end, who we are does not depend on who we believe we are, but in something deeper: the ontological.
Signature Lina Ru