I believe nothing is more complex than the simplicity of life:

What reason is there to our steps other than one without?

What purpose has our soul in the burning of our beings

Other than shining out a beacon to all those lost

And to refuse to be found if not to be given a name?

When the prickles of this icy wind roll through our veins

And crystalise the roaring flame of what it means to be of breath,

Has come the time to understand the source of what may be to feel

Or has it taken to the sky once more, yet to become but desire?

In a slow walk along the beach whereupon the ocean leaves for good

Only the words remain of it, ashes of a fire gone cold

Blown from the hearth of dreams into the bleak beating of the heart;

What shall remain after I sleep? And shall I step without a skip

Through the threshold of floating wood into the hall of many songs?

Once awoken there is not time and yet the stars are eternal,

Such is life before it drifts into the cold wind of morning…


If I am found then am I lost?


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