Magic of our living
Standing on a hill of time enchanted land
Millennia grows from all that it can know.
It writhes from the sleeping tombs of granite
In the ink of scree and earth to stand.
A beating heart for all to feel in hand.
Transfixed to a rhythmic song unfolding
Evaporating upon the imbued horizons viewed.
Lavender skies are memories seen
Memories in memoirs to the passing of an eye.
Where each moment persists yet differently
In a consistent constant shifting.
Life is magic and its actions the incantations of our living
Where no thought or action is the same twice over.
No step repeats the same familiar echoed sounds
As no feeling felt resounds the same feeling
Twice over past trodden grounds.
So these words bare the fruits of labours
Harvested in the last of a summer sun setting
Laid in the inducted structures of letters
Upon a page as figments and fragments
The elements of moments.
An integral feeling of circumstances translated
Our words carry the weight of meaning.
Carried forth with all seeming changed in time
To become phantoms of our mindís mysteries.
Yet residing in these instructions of a once now
To be spells in recanting of past open doors and wells
A grimoire of balance to the living
As a guide amongst the protracted scenes of realities seeping.
Back through the scenes riding upon the hemmed veils of our dreaming
To breathe upon this
The magic of our living.