In dribbled tease serenity does gather in my mouth,

wanting only to digest what time consumes in trust,

as morsels made in moments mad and meddled,

where reason does lie chewed; no more than crust,

like remnants of a meal from mind befuddled;

the dregs and dross of drowning hopes of youth.

When teeth do rot and crumble into shapes supine,

then so do all those futures, possible or not,

wherein the dreams of Self are mortared into shape,

discard themselves like shards of mirror dropped,

as that which Soul has lost; forgotten as it gropes;

on paths which trace the patterns writ sublime.

Then so is hope in silent choke so steadily revealed,

as vapour from the jasmine which will rise,

no matter night or day, or heat or steady cold, immersed,

for purpose has its power and strength besides,

the signature of being, unique and ever brought to birth;

and there, in pure creation, does peace, eternal breathe.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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