Even as hours passed,
in the visage park,
life just crawled across.
A feeling old,
a feeling new,
sometimes life was threw,
sometimes life is new.
Even if a somber might
take the face,
within there is the thrills of the chase.
The soul power-
the fluttering of hours,
is just a moment,
lesser so,
in one of timeless boundaries.
A million circles intersect,
and a tangent to all,
is born in the interment,
on which ,once thoughts
feel the relived spark,
they grow the wings
and decide to fly,
lest we be buried so alive,
in the rituals,
which are too aghast-
it is only for the past.
Even as memories remain,
we need to see across the skies,
who says young or old,
determines profoundity,
or mere grey, serenity?
Yards and yards,
miles and miles,
yet a few spots of colour
is all the remains.
When is today,
a knowledge of the past?
Unless one can see so far
ahead,propelled by some rage
and made to write a new page,
in the works of the world,
because of some wordy hurt.
Neither is a moment,
written, not gullible,
the forces acting along
and across,can always be added to
or something new,
might just push or pull,
the leashes of the circles
and gravity might be seen
and matter might become obsolete.
Nor is it too gullible,
finally everything fuses
and fission is not too loose-
To release a few, might be,
but finally to integrate
and achieve the desired fate,
it churns and predetermines
even as freedom is more
in an element contained,
rather than a world of skies
and will,for in such,
essential is survival
and not living.
Yet without marked points,
a few can still float
and live,
for that is their will.
And such people are those,
to whom,their home,
is a place of solace-
their home within,
the one filled with
dreams and thoughts
and ideas.the universe
may seem dark,
yet there is enough
light,to throw clarity,
on the visage
and put things beyond age.
As the skies are blankets,
and emotions the heat within,
there is a sense of existence,
as something does breath in the shell.
Through it we feel and see,we dwell,
within it and with it move
across this myriad world,
We know and get to know
and many more are relearned
as we flow,flow and flow.
Knowledge is eternal
and truth perennial,
both not the end
but means to an end,
the end being
endless,yet bound
to something which
we cannot comprehend.
Until the day we know,
what is the beyond of the beyond
what lies beyond the eyes'
sight and beyond the feelings
feel,we need to stroke
and poke and revoke
and break and ultimately
make and live our path
among the all,
and try to reach,
beyond our reach,
not in vanity,
but for eternity.
The truth is not the end,
but means to an end.
The light shines the brightest
