As the grains of time shuffle under the reins of existence,
a mellow tinge of what may be, lights up a spark in the heart. A probability suddenly seems a täd interesting than an actuality.
A distant imäge echos the Realms of desire.
The Image, being conceived räther than viewed.
May The wanderer be ever so lucky as to find a road less travelled. Unexpected branches of hurt, joy and confusion make that tree of life, watered and expectant.
Could there be a cloud of love Or just a worn out Dove ?
A rainbow painted grey,
with breaths full of sighs
to reach and teach a heart,
To love until It dies.
And still we wager a lonely soul,
To linger on till It finds its stole.
Body .. Mind .. Soul !
Bodied.. Mind and .. Sold !
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