when the call comes
upon the sandy sloped banks
of the stream of consciousness
we sit
listening
to the rushing movements
of the waters
contemplating at times
while
most times lost
in the ambiance of the moments
we do not always see the connection
but we feel it
and we hold to
give to
some etheric expression
which remains unquantifiable
there are reflections
that dance
light that flickers
as memories are stirred
about times of old
we have put away
this is but another place
where the seeds of Dreams are made
that we may one day plant them
in the soils of our hopes
there are sounds of familiarity
tickling quaint colors
into fruition
as we imagine life
beyond
and the streams flows continually
to some greater expression
of it’s self
only to return
with but a breath
so we tether it
bind it
as we attempt to
define it
that our reason
not appear as failed
for how would we look at our selves
we know the time soon come
when we shall have to rise
from this place of respite
for even flowers must bloom
when the call comes
© 18 May 2013 : william s. peters, sr.
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