Refused again, satori

Twisting freely in the gale
stripped of promises to keep,
hoping to live long and hale,
claim your ripened fruit to eat.

Hold me down, I'll blow away
as I'm not well grounded here;
countless lives yet here I stay
cleaning up the atmosphere.

Moksha still denied, tis fate:
compassion mine replenished;
I cannot end it now or late -
this world is not finished.

Not 'til every blade of grass?
So daunting yet how profane.
'Til i've let go of all at last,
ever this world will wane.