Like a masterpiece,
Life begins from nothing.
Time progresses, it takes shape
finds it’s purpose and meaning.
A poem is conceived
in the fertility of the soul.
Weaving the fibers of thought
by the loom of memories
Seemingly muddled now
the path to the horizon,
veiled by a dark mane
of emptiness.
Then within sight,
the glimmer of light,
vision of today and tomorrow—
impending storm approaching
foreboding without end.
In the cyclic rhythm of fortune
hear the echoes of the past:
the rustle of an old dress,
Giggle of a newborn,
Bells toll in mourning.
Look up the sky
hovering the earth.
Go forth and come with us.
You bring the balm that soothes
the wounded aching in pain.
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