Tales of riches in sequins
Like a lavish cloak of red
Swirling around to catch
The soft touch of raw skin

Each begins far away
A swarm of bees you can hear
But cannot see
And draws closer
Capturing your mind
And holding it
In an oscillating state
Between trance and attention

You see the rubies
Wish to steal them yourself
From the merchant
You wish to seek council
From the Grand-Visir
Thwart the wicked Sultan
And trick the Genius

The tales weave from one to another
They are a stream
Dispersing in a delta
But following each small stream
Meeting back at the source
In an unending circle
Of stories large or small

Stories of old men passing by
Of brother princes splitting land
Of merchants voyaging to trade
Of cunning daughters plotting

No corner of the world to far
No event not to be believed
No action too kind
No punishment too severe
No journey too long
No treasure too hidden

These tales are the life within human blood
The life that has no boundaries
And looks only for the sun