Sleep - A Cycle

Read this differently. What you see is how you see it. Try...

Sleep
For the innocent shall
Dream
For they who do not
Live
For they who do
Forget
For those who do not
Die
For those who do not
Play
For they who shall
Dream
For those who do shall
Sleep

Die

Would you like it when a thousand knives
Invade your dull, colourless, tasteless lives?
What would you know of pleasures
Hidden in passion or longing?
You who live in search of meaning
Without knowing what you seek
You make a pantomime
Out of a tragedy
And end up living out
A role in the eternal comedy.
Fools die.

The Travellers

They came walking down the dusty road

Crowned with flowers long faded in their hair

Uncounted, long and lonely paths perhaps they trode

And some parts of them still linger there

They look tired and and they look shaken

Crowned with the dust of many years

What toll from them have the memories taken?

Or perhaps awoken ancient fears...

Where does our road lead?

Whence the travelers return

What unknown path do we tread?

From what perils will we have to turn? 

Before we can return to our abode

Or shall we willing or not, have to linger there

Like them who came walking down the dusty road

Crowned with flowers long faded in their hair

Dust

Where it all began
And where it all shall end
Flying and whirling
Settling and swirling
In clouds and puffs
Whether engendered by rocks
From mountains forgotten
Or metal precious mined
Human skin or river skim
It all melds into one
Dust is levelled
It is no leveller
And dust is omnipresent
It was before all
It will be after
The futility of the in-between
A cosmic joke
Or a hidden truth?

Destiny beckons us all

He walks along the seashore
His dancing feet leave little print upon
The sandy seaside sparkling before
His eyes they scan the far horizon
He looks to the waves crashing-swirling
Upon the banks of Ocean unbound
He looks to still the sea-fire burning
Withing his heart hence hidden, now newly found...

He dances to a little boat moored upon the shore
His eyes look longingly seeking the sea
For upon land they shall turn no more
For he has at last found his way to be free
Not of pain nor burdens of which  he has few
But free of a longing within his boy-bright heart
Since childhood he has seen birds that flew
And never to return once they depart


His heart dances with the waves
His little boat dances out to meet
The great ocean: mysterious and grave
His joyous laugh greets the spray-salt-sea
And his longing is stilled at last
Now he looks to the approaching horizon with glee
And the oars his hands hold fast
For he is rushing to greet his destiny...

A thing few of us can ever meet
And fewer far can greet
The boy bids no farewell
For of return he cannot tell
And the birds fly above and greet
The boy who ran to his destiny meet....