Walking amongst the outward forms, I tripped,
Swirling down through the layers of knowing
Towards the black silence.
Set upon by the lachrymose beasts
And pummeled with emotions not my own
In search of proper feelings which I cannot find,
Is motley out of fashion?
Transparency appears the last defence
But, even so, the image is a lie;
Revealed by the proper reflection.
I would go as the wind goes
But, having too much substance,
Dismiss the childish fantasy in search of solid self –
Yet Thine is the glory ..
Me? Oh I would roll upon the hills of paradise,
But that would be to circumvent the journey,
And that is not allowed.
Gather me then, in the tendrils of your promise,
More solid than this fleeting earth;
And carry me, however long it takes,
Learning Your honesty.