From the Manuscripts of Time

Deciphering from the manuscripts of time

Fleeting wisps or taunting fragments caught

By the inner scribe who labours through a mind

Awaiting stillness, yet the days are fraught

With traceries of dreams and wonder wrought

Miracle is found through eyes half-blind

And music of the inner realms is taught

And halting poetry on wings sublime.

Through the growing of the self in all its seasons,

The tortured time when winter fills the soul

Felicity when burst the buds of spring,

And months when blue-white summer skies unroll

In silence drifting to an unseen goal,

All our human elements we'd bring

Into the province of divine control,

Discharge mind's nescient rule and ego's treasons.