Preludes

Of "time", we are weathered-

emerging from this wilderness

triumphant...

grasping the honed gem

of "self ".

At last then, we may seem

to wear the tiara as a rightful crown...

But, as the curving pathway

transmutes

into deep waters,

and the gloom of night approaches,

at dusk

we shall say:

"We travel this road confused and alone" !

For never does the journey end,

but where "preludes" embark

upon the new again!

Dearest-

lightening breaks

to  trumpet the approach of rain,

as the Sun will foster a garden's growth...

And the sacred flowers

shall always reach

for the illumined, warming light-

to spring forth

in perfected beauty

along every winding

and pebbled path.

Martha Meshberg

Copyright ©2002

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