Imagine an enchanted;

Yes!

Clearing;

A flourishing verdant
evergreen grove,

Raining
oxygen-filled particles
of Wish Light

A vintage letter falls
from the elder oak boughs;

Floating to your feet

Sonorously you read,

"Breathe
In
Deep"

Expectations...

In the eyes of every being,
Be it a beggar, be it a king,
Lie seas of expectations,
Of untold dreams...
In their hearts-they seep,
They haunt their thoughts,
And not let's them sleep...

Expectations from a new tomorrow,
Shadowing today's sorrow,
They search endlessly,
In dreams, for glittering stars...
Like them I sleep tonight,
Eyes, are but wide open,
With one such vision, an untold dream...

But alas,
At the end of sleepless night,
By dawn of the morning,
A tear trickles down my face,
The dream but ebbs away,
In the morning mist,
And so my vision fades...

A twinkle appears in my teary eyes,
Faint smile creeps yet again...
As I make it through,
Another days game,
A hope kindles yet again...
May be,
Tomorrow will not be the same...

O diver, crush this body of union, to possess
a greater diamond.
Alas, all earthly joy is crushed by the wet
weather.
All spirituality seems to turn back to the
dust.
Spiritual images, though seen, are not felt.
Spirit only reaches out, but finds just another
human, some invisible princess to grasp with its
tentacles.

We shelter in caves
Beneath a man-made steel sky
Once reflective of our soul
Now corroded, its reflection a reminder of our great lie
That the Earth could be tamed
Exploited and submitted in the name
Of the human race
Now it is we who must abase ourselves
Deep underground
As above the megastorms tear apart the heavens
Grinding all the atmospheric rust
into vicious orange clouds
Which fall upon us: a forever-rain of dust
Blue oceans smothered
Forests choked
Fields unrecovered
Fires infinitely stoked
We dreamed once of going to Mars
But see instead it's Mars that's come to us
Descended people of a dead planet
We reap the fallen dust
We weep
       the falling dust

A spiralling ascent
Along the world's edge
Sweatdrops fall
To a below without sunlight
Boot dust
Llamas labour under supply packs
Hoof beat lantern dance
Shadows cast on the cliff face
Distorted we loom
Above the mute fog of humanity
Summitous
Awash in the final dawn
The old Inca smiling sprouts his knife
Ancient tapestral landscape
Exhales into us
Curvously infolding
The old Inca holds out his hands
The knife cuts horizontally
Reality opens like a book upon a tabletop
There, he says,
Pointing to the infinite space between where the sky in the past met the land
Timespace lies like a discarded washcloth
And we see dimly through the mists—
There, he says,
Pizarro could not follow us,
And we see dimly through the mists—
The neon lights of
Neoqusqo

A leaf floating
on the water
has no effect
on its future.
It drifts passively
on the pond,
In an hour,
a day,
or a week,
it may land on the shore across the pond,
or remain floating on the water,
or even sink to the bottom forevermore,
Without ever knowing why.  

Are you drifting in your own small pond?
Floating oblivious,
Unsure, uncertain, unmade?
Going wherever the waters take you?
Watching the world pass and fade?
Or sinking and drowning?

Or have you set the sail in your boat
And know the direction
you’re headed,
Your purpose, your vision, your mission,
Sitting back and enjoying the flow,
The tumultuous journey with its ups and downs,
As you watch the world unfold within and around you.  
From calm sweet waters,
To crashing and crushing high rise waves.
It’s all about the journey,
The lessons and the pain,
The joy and the excitement,
The highs and the lows,
That will take you to your destination,
The lessons and the pain.
And better than whence you came