We are the sound
that I am making in your mind.
A song played on the wind,
blowing softly through the cave of dream.

You touch the sound
and like a ripple, all is glistening,
this is how
a moment changes
all things
are intertwined and interbracing
all time,
captures light just like a diamond
reflecting colour
from a crystal gaze.

We are the song
that echoes in your canyoned valleys,
plays upon your dancing branches,
fills your soul with such
a bitter-sweet.

This Song

I speak in sounds
because there are no words-
No language reveals
what we feel-
more than a whispered scream

I touch the sound
and cringe in its echo.
It is cold and hollow-
It is silent yet piercing-
It is a minstrel of divine discontent-
A lullaby sung to sleepers in their graves.
The shadow of a melody that I remember
from some distant life.

And His song has touched me
even here.
Stained me with an ancient weeping
and I recall that I am the silence
where His heart once was.
I occupy that hollow place-
That cave of winds
where whispers collect in the emptiness
and pierce the tenuous membrane
between body and spirit
and slay the soul
with such passionate melancholy.
This song
of ages past and times to come
is beyond the range
of human voice-
beyond the grasp
of human ear.

We are the minstrels of sorrow
who cannot stop singing
for fear that the quiet
would break the chain
of life and death.
We cannot stop the song
from carrying us all
along its swift, unending current.

We are a sadness
that is so old
it cannot remember its own birth.
We have been here for so long
that we have forgotten how
to return home-
or even where
that welcomed shore resides.

Sing. Oh, sing to me
that I might remember
the sound of this song without words-
This requiem that reminds me of home.
Even though it cannot be heard.
It devastates me still.
In Exile

I have not known flesh before,
nor left a footprint in your sand.
This raiment is a fragile form
that's always dying in a storm.

I cannot ride a shooting star,
nor leash the lightning to my side.
No longer can I feel the kiss
of melancholy eventide.

Sealed inside this living clay,
my wings are bound by bone and blood,
even dreams will not release
nor fantasy afford some peace.

I am in exile in your world,
severed from god's darkling host,
here to teach the things I knew
so well when I was there with you!

Now, so distant from that shore,
I strain to hear your spectral voice
and understand the reason why
I must, on your behest, comply.

My memory unfolds some truth
and seals it in a paper cage
that anyone among you may
with gentle ease, come steal away.

Like a phoenix rising from the dust,
all truth, as it is written, must
be cast into the fiery lake
and sleep til cleansing dreams awake.

Wake Up!

In this life I dream that I am awake.
No solitary image,
but a scope of time and space.
Limited only by its transmutations,
and made infinite
because of them.
Nothing eternal lives forever...
in one form.
All life is made possible by death.

In this dying I dreamed that I had lived.
A multitude of incarnations
enfolding into one,
intangible silhouette.
A chrysalis to the whims of thought
and the winds of change.
In this dream, within a dream,
all worlds collapse into a pinpoint
with multitude facets.
Each overlaps and mirrors the other,
creating the whole.
And it is here I am imprisoned
in a diamond 
where all of the facets are mirrors,
and all of the mirrors are liquid.
Each time a choice is made,
we dive into reflections.
Every ripple
touches and disturbs each image.
Each image
creates a new facet.
Each facet
becomes a doorway
that we can pass through
unbeknownst to ourselves.
And each doorway
represents the progression of our path
and of our purpose.
Each, a world unto its own,
both created and destroyed
when the dreamer wakes.


Nothing like this dream-
The space of time
and span of days

Life is nothing
like this dream-
This wallowing in tedium
and drinking of mediocrity

We strive to become
what we once were-
Struggle to remember...Try to forget

Try as we may
we cannot escape
the cycle of half-life-
The spiral of Eternity
leads to but a moment
when the Infinite blinks
and Time collapses...

Then, we can rest.

Back | Next