Cold hands clutch at my fingertips,

but my fingers flutter with the flow of the breeze.

My soul is as stolid as my body,

the insurmountable stature that I embody with ease.

But this fear of complacency has emerged in enemy garb,

threatening to engulf all hope in disease.

But I’ll strive to appease.

Retreat to the roots remaining far below the assassins dawdling in the shadows of trees.

I’ll gulp the goblet of eternal elixir,

sit, rest, and above all,

wait.

In between dimensions of free-flying, acrobatic atoms,

the most movement made is manifested meditatively.

 

And when time presents itself bearing two stones in hand —

one black,

the other white —

will I have to choose between them selectively?

If so, I choose none.

For a bull won’t not charge at a matador,

so will I too not not charge at life!

The elixir embedded emulations of esoteric worth in the root of my being,

and now these thoughts rest in my mind like a field of loosestrife.

All that I knew and all that I know,

is reduced to rubbish in the realm of infinite infinities.

For if every star simulates a speck of sand,

and every speck of sand represents relative realities,

dreams are but a star in the night sky.