water,sputtering pathetics
like     a godlost priest.

the cool stone floor
feel,on my floridmost cheek.

For you,
I’d bleed roses,
And cry - daffodils,
And even the sweetest tulips,
Could not impel me,
As do you.

This is where the magic happens;
solitude is of utmost integrity.

If I were a dew;
I would be the most travelled.
If I were the grass;
I would be the most still.

I am a hermit, unaware about my surroundings;
knowing all is interconnected within.

I am lost and in that I found myself;
I belong nowhere and in that I became of the universe.