There is that within me
Which must find repose
In a world which daily life disowns.
But daily life is mere survival,
And I seek full existence.
I know within me
That which cries with yearning
And strives to become its inner self:
A silver-swept place of iridescent thoughts,
And beckoning depths of infinite being. . .
This land is one of never-same patterns,
Woven of limitless light.
It is not flame,
But the Soul
From which that flame achieves
Its own, air-molten, burning life.
And I would grasp,
And I would live,
That Soul.
