From some origin,
Arose a beginning.
From within,
it dawned upon.
Still nothingness evaporated
And condensed into everything.
It shed the inhibitions
And took on a titration.
It revealed itself,
And started to dwell,
It provoked the sight,
And revived the thoughts.
And out of all that,
Out came life.
It was nothing,
But everything.
It fed on itself,
And grew, It turned,
The darkness into light,
It was that which is bright.
It pushed and moved,
It expands and spans,
Lives and breaths,
Through it's own eternity.
Within it, it held a measure,
It gauged and prompt moved,
It's very nature-
It nurtured a history.
The tales of living memory,
Life exists when we think,
See, feel and perceive.
Morality is innate,
Actions determine fate.
The mind holds faith,
To the heart, the fiat.
Everything is bound to happen,
Yet is not yet determined.
As the mind speaks the words,
The airs seek the worlds,
And move them so dense
Or rinse the sea, so pressured,
That the sun abjures vile,
And shines clean and bright.
The light,
The spirit of life,
Moves and hides,
Destroys and creates,
Rises and bows,
To the visceral sense,
Defined by it's origin.
Time takes the yards,
And moves the songs;
It sticks the prongs,
In it nothing is wrong,
For as it deems,
And so decreed,
The choices move along,
Pacts made and broken,
Evil yelled and Gods
Woken, the minds drenched,
In supposed sins,
And for granted,
Everything taken,
Values pensioned;
And a mirage of vengeance,
Wraps, and fiends
Foolishly foul,
Dictate blasphemy;
Yet,
All is forgotten,
The dogma eaten,
Carte Blanche,
Everything is of life,
And will thus belong.
Rulers and ruled,
The mind is a mere tool-
The weapon of the articulate,
The armour of the brave,
The dire of the prisoned,
The shame of the knaves.
And such a mind,
Is ruled, by the heart,
One that beats,
For so many a second an hour.
One of heart and mind,
Everything is alive;
It is a slave to time,
You can watch,
But you cannot rewind;
You can feel,
But you cannot heal,
The wounds it deals,
For what it foresees,
Is seen and cannot
Be erased clean.
Everything is an illusion,
For everything, is what you believe.
Nothing is an illusion,
For belief is what you need.
The charms are rung by the winds,
The anger boils within.
No almanac, is so tact,
To move time and make it relax-
For a second runs, no longer,
And no shorter, And all you measure,
Is the past, the future is already gone.
You choose in time,
And on it you ride-
The rider of the writ.
Choice is chosen,
Yet it is to be made,
To be a choice.
High and low,
The rhythm, is set,
But where it leads,
Is intrinsic.
Time guides,
And the hearts merely beat.
As a step is taken,
The track becomes beaten,
The world begins-
The thoughts riddle,
Actions mingle,
The nothing is filled,
With penchant,
And the need to belong.
Life moves in circles,
Time encompasses life
And streams it and stirs it,
It awakens the mind,
Thus becomes alive.
The light shines the brightest
