I ramble along in these halls
Discovering a lack of smile
In my mind and heart.

I glide through the doors
With from you more happiness
And warmth outside.

Whirling...
Whirling...
A hear the whirling of the wheel
Air escaping and entering cavities
In the whirling wheel.
Gold becomes goal
And the fingertip needle
Puts me to sleep
At the whirling of the wheel.

Almost a score of years ago
Two matches struck
Lighting one candle.
Here the flame grows
In color and height
Swaying with the wind.

In the spring of yesteryear
This flame stood tall,
And danced majestically.
Eleven moons later,
It exists within an inch
Of its life, with much wax
To remain.

For he is gone, for he is dead
For he has left and left us dead.
No!  Wilt not yet young flowers,
Flourish still.
Thy lost flow hast merely chosen
For God's table vase.
Radiate they iridescence to the eyes!
Captivate still.

For he is gone, for he is dead.
For we go on, recall instead
Dreams a dreamy man conceived
Of a flower garden, watered well
Flourishing its beauty.
Every seed of soil meticulously placed
To watch the roots grow shoots
Shooting into the sky
Capturing glorious warmth from the dreamer,
Of a thousand dreams
Come true.

For he is gone, for he is dead
Think not that, conceive instead,
Were thy flowers shall come to be
The dreamer who did succeed
Bequeaths to you
To dream

Dream through walls
Befalling the best
And become thy exalted one.

Emotion haunts more on,
For twenty four moons
Growing and maturing now
More than before

A feeling always known
Yet I find conflict
Believing falsely
There is time
Perhaps Grace save me.

Upon the tides of sea
There agreed upon an armistice
And impossible reconciliation
Between mind and heart.

Thy Immortal Voyage travels on,
And another isle is found
One of purity, and clear skies,
Just is the last.
Only the way shimmers.

Now the alliance
Is torn from ahead,
And behind.

Here upon the isle of love
Many inhabitants dwell and surge
Here in lovelorn inn
Are many visitors.