The days are slowly changing around me,
not into night, or a new state of weather.
But their very meaning, unfolds variably
The sands of time have shifted,
They are now lying still,
a bed on which eternity rests.
Yet flowers still blossum,
birds greet the spring,
as every year before I,
and every year after I die.
My name is a temporary illusion,
an honorary badge, the true belonging of a human.
But my sentimental views dictate,
that there must be more then prescribed fate.
Perhaps whilst here on earth.
I must succumb to natures embrace,
Then after the Black Kenebit departs
I'll see my heavenly place.
I dare to say there's more to life,
That earth is the womb of spirirt,
and that when we die we are born,
into a disciple of the Infinite.
