Clouds
 

Sacred moments of time, bitten by the flight of fancy

There is no beginning, and no end

No yesterday, and no tomorrow

Even today is but a slanted perspective

Tumbling down into darkened wells and rising on sacred clouds

Sleep is a mirror of our soul, fragmented this way and that

And we choose which shard to view, which angle we will glance

Which drop of blood we will spill in the ultimate dance of sacrifice and fulfillment.

Our thoughts are only echoes of a greater being

For o ur separation is only a state of mind.