The Moon Hears the World's Cry

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The maiden waits where the dark water sleeps,
A figure poised on the horizon line.
Not sorrow, but a stillness that runs deep,
Beneath the gaze of the moon's golden sign.
She is the silence, dressed in linen frail,
With hair swept back by winds from every shore,
Preparing for the melancholy wail
Of souls that knock upon Nirvana's door.

Her eyes are closed, but within, she is sight:
Guanshiyin, the Listener to the Sound.
Each ripple holds a shadow of the night,
Each breath she takes, a comfort that is bound
By the great vow: to pause beside the gate,
And turn her thousand arms toward human fate.
The world cries out, yet here, upon the stone,
She hears the one true language: being alone.