The Mystic

A raindrop that holds the tears of thousands,
Drops upon the pool of rememberance,
As the acid of defeat turns the hard work of millions into nothing more then a grain of sand.

The winds of fate lifts the granuale of sand,
And carries it beyond the mountain peaks,
Beyond the empty prairies,
Beyond the sun,
Beyond the moon
...Beyond...


Nothing embraces that granuale of sand,
And within its bossom,
Breathes death into life,
And forms life out of the void of death,

That grain of sand is now a string,
Being woven by the spider of force,
Who then weaves its web out of the finest silk,
So delicate, So strong

I am the last wild horse on the plans,
I am that raven in the sky, soaring, alone,
I am that fish in the pond,
I am
You are
I am
You are

I, You

We are..

One link in a circle that has no links,


A beginning and an end,

We are..

The hum of the earth, and the pulse of the stars.