We are but stone stirred ripples atop the lake of the all knowing.
Ever flowing, ever moving, always steady, always growing.

Stretching out like the limbs of an overhanging tree.
Reaching out like the hands of the lovers lost at sea.

Desperately, we being again, in the shallows we are saved.
And yet I am cautious to advance upon an overlapping wave.

I am in awe to understand, that I am asleep, and I am a wake.
And no one ever knows the impact of the ripples they create.