The world inside myself wherein
the creatures of my life abide
though Aeon’s pass to leave them still
unchanged and so unspent as well.
Silver spirits in their misted glade;
translucent, silent, and untouched by time.
Where Innocence and wonder ever reign,
appreciation and gratitude reside.
Fulfillment, the prevailing sense instills
what leaves no use, nor need or room for pride.
When lighted spirits set the glade aglow.
Too heady not to heed, I must embrace,
that my reflected glow be kindled bright.
These Alchemists brew light to bleed the night
that now with fear no darkness is possessed.
No ignorance calls challenge unto
transforming fear though life
Silver spirits in the misted glade radiating love too great to hold,
await adoption of greater belief
into the web of phrases and of words,
with which I may invoke my daily life.
On quiet nights beneath stars whispered light
I slip away, to rest in such a grove,
and sing once more with elder and with oak,
To stir these shards, to shed mundane disguise,
revealed as starlight, mercifully unchanged,
To sing once more the words that kindle joy,
the timeless paean from the heart of life.