The traveler, mindfull of all,
makes each step a reaching
to keep from the fall . . .
into that world-part
that is hazy and misted,
where twilight sleep
is poignant with kisses
of spirit need, and soul
leaping to death wishes.
Awake and Renew!, seems
the call of the spirit,
yet weary and torn
from the battles that rage.
Soul whispers and sighs
and shivers in times,
of ago ages and space
well purchased in wages
of soul-spent times
and heart-beat crimes.
Alas! and Alas!
Cries the one who abides
within the sheltered, veiled peace.
The path has turned inward,
and the way is unknown,
the whispers alone refuse to cease.
'Tis the sweet warmth of sleep,
and the lullabies of none,
soul crying to breech,
until it is done.
The climbing, the spiraling
the dancing of fate,
and spirit, unamused,
does little . . . but wait . . .
for a glimpse of the light
from a lamp held above,
to welcome the traveler
and refresh her in love.
What now! cries the soul,
desperate to survive,
in the cold, lonely tomb,
where there is no alive.
I can not go forth,
the way bends too much!
soul screams to the earth,
in wild fear of the touch
of the light held supreme,
and searched for ere long,
the sleep of the sleeper,
too soon will be gone.
'Tis sweetness to know
and proclaim in a life,
that the veil of truth vanishes,
within the pure light.