Those above The myriad below In timeless fog Does judgment grow Though unsuspected And all unseen One might know From what they glean In words, in stories Great ages old From where we've come Not what we're told Though in time we might See a vast clear sky And what for eons In the fog has lied Then will we Know naught but fear The coming watch Of Olon-Vir
A gentle streaming waterfall Flows to that silvery pool Nestled down and away From most curious eyes Save for mine is course
In the dull evening hours I would sit on the walkway Narrow and overgrown That led down into that basin Where the water collected And flowed to some underground spring
There would I see him Sitting on the water's edge A seemingly week build man In a set of well worn robes That bore no symbol Or design I could recognize
I felt after many visits That he knew of my presence As if his awareness reverberated Up from the water And bounced Off the close rock walls to locate me Without his need to look
Yet I never spoke to him Or descended further Down those precariously worn steps To that silvery pool below For I knew ever so vaguely
That the one I had seen there At the edge of those waters I should not ever meet
The road goes ever northward I pray the path stays clear My enemies stand united With my worries and my fear The road I know does narrow Through wood and snowy field Despite I will not falter And never will I yield For there is one that is Who was and who descends And I know that they Will stand there at the end
Drip, drop Moss on the rocks Overcast sky The canopy blocks Fall, flow Down the great stream Carrying all To where we do dream Dream, sleep In waters still That in your mind You find your fill
Dream away Where they might be Swaying fern And date palm tree There where is The sun I know Golden, purple And then below The blue green waters Clear and deep A rising moon To bid still sleep