as it comes
from without,
only touches
the fringes of joy,
a replica of pure reality,
bound to fade
and wane
into emptiness
and destined to merge,
no more itself,
with the mere shadow
it throws on the faint memories
of yesterday's
dreams.
Almost forgotten now,
reeling
on the time-wheel
of love
as an expression
of pure joy,
an outcry
of the soul's longing
for eternity,
a yearning
of the cellular body of time
to join its true source,
somewhere
behind the mountains of pride,
so rarely seen
but by the mystic's eye,
born to die
long before life was created
out of the longing
for living
beyond the curtain
of death.

Along the endless
strand of sand,
waves rolling
onto the silent shore,
circling around
a fairy's dream,
counting every stone
and shell,
that wore away
through timeless
tides.



Pebbles polished
by the water's tongue,
floating 'cross
the sandy hide,



like marbles
cast there
by a child.