Monday, November 2, 2015


To track a cause unto its source, it must be run aground
To bring the thought unto the light, release the questing hound
The scent is caught, the trail is run, at last the source is found
Transcendent to the random thoughts, these thoughts, in essence, sound
In symphony with song of life, all notes and thoughts resound
Each step is gained, each measure writ, the instruments astound
No knowledge of the tune is known, the ways it quests abound
As notes all trip across the stage, the transients confound
Each step precedes the swing and dip, the dance of life is crowned 
The stage is set, the flourishing of thoughts remain profound


© 2015 whickwithy


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