When Life evolves to that place
Where Self and Life interface,
With Soul and World perceived as one,
Time and Being become as one.
This sacred matrimony, once in place,
Bequeathed, holds to its patterns and its pace.
Novel things break in to have their way,
Forsake such bliss for fancies of the day;
Wild oats of Ego fly at the face
Of downtrodden youth, still yearning for its grace.
Greed and lust run naked in the street,
Till Life confronts the Soul it has to meet.
Nature waits out these wars against her will;
The springs of Life, from tears, again refill.
Copyright 2001-2015 L. S. Heatherly
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