The bog is still and whispers truths the lichens long foretold.
She\'s gradually awakening into the forests fold.
Her thick waters the meeting point, where ouroborous sleeps.
Her mossy banks the sacred space where death his secrets keep.
Gilded thorns and hollow bones silently point the way.
Reverent the pilgrimage, the moon chasing the day.
\'Round and \'round the witness spins, all caught up in the form,
All this or that lives inside it, bottled is the storm.
Underneath the slow commotion lives an expanse.
The universe ever in relentless advance.
All of us fated to suffer its sleepless dream,
Captured together - the swamp, the shore, and the stream.
Sol and all her satellites tell the same tale.
Parable and lesson told quiet and frail.
Stare into the heavens, find a mirror there,
Connect all the holy light, golden and fair.
The surface is anointed with the glow.
The ferns reach out and open to it slow.
Moments frozen or just too fast to see,
Unfolding puzzles, miraculously.
Stillness, space and change together lay.
Ever conspire, unfold the way.
The path outward bound is the trail back,
Totality an amnesiac.
Stand upon cliff, taste of the night.
Let the wounds burn, sing as you fight.
Patient it waits, until you choose sight,
This moment soaks all in its light.
From starlight - to quiet bog.
Stillness - to its epilogue.
Our lives - unto dusty death.
A circle - this mantric breath.
Existence explosion.
Impartial implosion.
Symmetry symbolize.
Piety plagiarize.
Not much time remains.
Unity constrains.
The whole lives inside,
each part that it hides.
Fallen asleep,
Transitions weep,
New forms arise,
Anthologize.
Spins and sings.
Made of things.
Enchanted.
Piloted.
All. One.
Song. Sung.
Now. See.
Let. Be.
Gild.
Rhyme.
Truth.
Prime.