Poetry “I walk slowly”

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I walk slowly, as love’s fruit is maturing

And each step I take, I am closer to the budding.

In tiredness I dream, seeing his sleep-lost face;

My fingers caressing his rested thighs – he stirs –

His unsensing hand unconsciously touching mine.

My heart drum, drum on, the drummer and the dream.

In impatience I wait for thee to quicken on

But cruel time heeds not my troubled imploring

Nor the perspiring of my mind.

O, this yawning chasm through which life is filled

Must unfill itself when time gives its grace

To issue forth the treasure that is buried in me,

Formed and shaped by the Master Sculptor.

Come, archaeologist with your pick, to unbury it;

The place is found. We will just have to wait.

28,15,0,50,1
600,600,60,1,5000,1000,25,2000
90,300,1,50,12,25,50,1,70,12,1,50,1,1,1,7000
Tomorrow means nothing as years go by
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For treading where all is I, why wonder why
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To fathom truth... life's purpose together be
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For I know, of nothing else but that I am thee.
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Where does separation come if it could disappear
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When love knows of oneness where mind appear
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Just to know, just to know, now..
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That even friendship disposes itself to reappear
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This I see with body clear, so far, so near
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For life in its stillness forever bounds
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In it's own merry-go-round
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Yet to find, and having found
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The stillness, forever bound
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Therein life's love, eternally is so sound.
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