Time taps layers of the self,
With the music of all true feeling;
All the spheres of spiralling quicksilver, luminous.
And as we flow through our experiences,
By chance we choose the one we truly live,
And we awake to it as ornately as the Dawn.
The meeting comes of its own, naturally,
Like a lily upon the surface
Of a clear still pond, reflecting gold
From the Sun, smiling
While the clouds are busy upon shadier places.
We drift in their memories,
Moments in the tapestry of waking legends,
When they were us...
And we are reminded we are flying,
Over vespers of lucid dreams,
Where we recognise those planes
Which define our days.
We govern our destiny in the language of the sacred,
The word, woven of the ordinary and the miraculous.
We sing of the life of the heart
As it fans another tomorrow;
Feathers blown across time,
Destiny beyond all fears
Alighting upon peaceful ponds,
Under the fiery silver moon.
Silver and gold,
Gentle the aura and aurora
Of voice and listener,
Of harp and drum,
Of ageless dreams and quests;
As poets play among water birds
Where rest the lilies?
...Upon mirrored ponds.