Softly spoken-
The great tale is told.
Not with word nor whisper,
But song-music of the soul.
Lone rhythm, one of many-
Self only known within,
Awakens; this strange singularity,
The great melody begins.
Mind like a loose leaf (floating),
Time but a gentle breeze,
Reality a loose weave (tapestry unwinding),
Existing only as it seems.
As I’m sleeping- (dreaming),
This strange delusion;
Each to their own unique perception- (seeming, or being),
The truth is in the shared illusion.
Flowing (floating) through this,
Untamed temporal river,
Perceiving- only iridescent,
Sublime imagined sentiment.
And could It be that I’m just dreaming,
Dreaming -this life of mine.
I guess to be is to believe the lucid illusion,
As we float through time.
In this sea of uncertainty,
I am now but treading water, above-
-Infinite unknown ocean depth
-Unexplored entropic breadth
Hope on the horizon,
-Always out of reach.
Between the ether heavens and the darkly deep,
The dividing line runs through the hearts of us all.
And so upon reflection,
I’m split down the mirror,
I beg you the question,
Do you see saint or sinner?
And I would ask:
Are we truly free?
Chain’d to script already written,
Or choice of fate through will to be
The feeling that it all might be-
Invoked by some higher order or being:
Rules above me, rules below me,
rules surround me,
A prisoner from cradle to crypt.
Where then, are my freedoms?
I am lost.
And then-
I tire,
Limbs weary from the weight of existence;
Heart and mind and psyche and soul..
Turn to lead.
It’s all broken.
I know not who I am.
I trust only my own doubt.
No identity in which to seek succour.
I sink,
And mind splits:
…
Spirit fission;
Drowning in impulsive symbolism,
Self-inflicted cryptic volition.
Unrelenting.
Unrelenting.
I writhe in uncertainty.
Grasping for clarity,
-Staring, tearing at empty space,
Nothing to hold to.
Spirit sepsis.
The sunset crimson tells me no.
The wine-green water says to go.
Omens, omens.
I count seven stars,
Or are there six?
8 means guard your thoughts,
5, I’m not sure..
I’m not sure, I’m not sure-
The words, their meanings
Semantic ambiguity,
Superpositions of sense.
A smile or a slight,
Mixed ego exchange,
Ulterior harmonies,
Of veiled communication..
Trees of meaning as we speak,
But which branches to choose?
Both to voice, and to hear…
Beware of those that plant bad seeds.
Breaking the surface now,
Broken- the barrier between polarities,
Knowing only depths in spectrum,
As above and so below.
And there is power,
In unspent potential.
Why?
Yet formless and untamed.
Raw,
Unpredictable,
It is not yet -made manifest,
And does not promise that it will,
But might.
Latent, and waiting…
For the right time, if ever there is one.
-The exhaled breath of decision (-catching),
Is but directed impulsivity,
Designed and guided by-
Those internal turning fluid machina of the soul, (Fleeting, ephemeral).
Like the lightning arm that knows before it lands-
The die that moves the rolling hand,
The coin who knows it’s mind,
The serpent eats it’s own tail-
All in good time,
All in good time,
All in good-…
So, to the past with lamenting platitudes,
So long as you’re breathing-
The only thing that matters
Is that which you give meaning.
Casting off then- the iron shackles of doubt,
-The question of choices,
the choice of vices.
Eyes wide, surprised- I find myself-
Washed clean in the divine tides of timeless certainty-
Upon the sures-
Of resolution,
Absolution,
Revelation,
Revolutions in kindness.
And if the day should come,
And judgment be done,
Let it be every day,
And judge yourself wisely.
The secret to eternal life- it seems,
The philosophers stone…
Is not a crystal thing of dreams,
But that carv’d earth written upon.
Chisel in hand,
Or Symbols scattered in the sand,
It’s all the same.
The transmutation of the soul,
(To make a leaden heavy heart),
Into deed or living word,
So that it may yet live on in hearts and mind, as gold…
And in eternity’s quiet echoes, be forever heard.
Still lost, and musing…
Ever I’m finding-
All that glitters is not gold,
But I’ll settle for silver linings.
Aethnen 
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