Looking Back At The Future Poem by Henry Tong

My fate was carved in strokes, deep and shallow,
next to a censer, on oracle bones. The seers bound
from ancient soil bowed their heads low for
a ritual. They reached for rosin, a gift of time,
and drilled its ashes into fire. Until the bones
were charred and cracks appeared they knelt again,

which marked my life to start and end,

In an instant, in an ritual, slipping between
fingertips. I merely grasped the rustling wind,
along with whispers wrought by sin, a message
endowed with prophecy, deciphered me a myth,

Hidden in the cracks indiscernible to me.

"In the deep strokes you must toil, toil for
the cracks to spread, in which you receive
a blessing for longevity of life, " gently
paused and it contrasted, "shallow stood for
leisure remnants- you would fill your nights
to nurture, but instead the heaven heard
your healings so they issued a divine warrant
placing back your haunting heart."

Putting aside heavy labor, leisure was the
rest of life. But in carves of deep and shallow
I read what to value then.