EARTH

By Ben Williams © 2005

Waterwheel of all eternal power

The spinning yoke of celestial bliss;

Sequestered, sculpted; this flaming bower,
Roving Endless, conjures this.

Folded deep from shadows headlong

The supposition of Self eludes

The scintillating boundless caverns

That through the formless, flowers bloom.

And standing here, can you believe

That emptiness enshrouds us whole?

For that which is by sense perceived

And sense the disease of the tortured soul

From silent echoes the elements fuse

Yoked in purpose for the Will to use.