The Dreamers Dream Doomed to dream in the sinking night, how deep is the pool of the afterlife? When the crimson wings no longer beat and the howl of silence in patience keeps the soul suspended in the ethereal dark energy the light conceals in shades of color and depth of field beyond the mind and the fiery spark that kindled time, produced the arc that rippled through the emptiness in the circular formation and genesis of the sacred and profane by the miracle of the unnamed, master of the universe. The well of consciousness from which we draw sustenance and the natural law that governs one and determines all is not a mercenary commodity to satiate lust and greed but serves to define the common need, a common love of the whole of humanity. There is not one stone nor grain of dust that does not achieve its small part to reach the mountain’s peak and it is all or none that completes the heart and soul of man. If only the voice were loud enough and the ears were trained to hear the sound of creation would cut the din and come in loud and clear. But, as it is with the business its requirement consumes the just to abandon altruism to the wind leaving the greater part to rust. Doomed to dream the dream the dreamer dreamed, is a blessing not a curse, though as it is, it would seem the last are never first.
Posted on: Sat, 15 Nov 2014 13:51:11 +0000
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