To every soul that breathes there is a dream,
And as the silence of the dark descends,
The voiceless whispers floating in a stream,
Avail us now to follow folly’s bends.
Yet, wisdom clasps a corner of the earth,
To sweep away the callous of the dirt,
No fear would dare to foul her sacred hearth,
For freedom flings away the devil’s hurt.
But, still the creek of life wanes swift and steep,
The splash of wavelets dwindling as she comes,
We ponder on our questions and our sums.
And thus, we miss the echo of her leap,
What is shall be and what was done is past,
For neither moonlit dreams nor nightmares last.
Our human reveries are strings of lace,
Like whimsy lutes amidst the drummer’s beat,
Yet in the mirror, she lives out her days,
A mirage of the summer’s drying heat.
Tis fate, her crimson leaves will bleed for dew
As we do wander in our fickle minds,
Delusions drown us in their evil brew,
To leave us blind, as autumn’s time unwinds.
As love and liberty release the lock,
May the frosty fierceness of the winter thin,
And sin surrender victory within,
For destiny wills wisdom’s witting knock.
When death is cumbered by the ghost of life,
Tis faith that blooms anew through spring or strife.