Nowhere could be a place to always go
To be with the sweet reflections
of all we call gold
and of all the love of memory
That can only bewilder
Like the sight of the first calm sea
That no wind could distress
Or tell its story.
The inner chambers of thought
are the final resting place
for those that bore her children
That come neither black or white
Or with many wishes to cry
But with the songs of truth
That accompanied the dark stars
to where time stops
and space makes do
with what the Creator could hold.
The journey to the inner world
is a journey to the outer world
This is what the mystic knows
Before the traveller sets sail
either by wind or sea
To the place no more strange
To never return or make the pace
Like the calm mystic
has always known.
Author’s Note: They say politics is a dirty game. Politicians are divided into those that see it as a deterrent or as an excuse.
I think the battle of the sexes would probably be the last war.
The world is hypocritical about world peace.
What we fight for and what fights against us are usually two sides of the same coin that makes us better
They say fight for love, but that counts for nothing compared to how love fights for us.
The universe is vast in space and condensed in thought. So think ever slightly of it and unravel the world.
Until next time,
I will be here.
– M. V. Echa