Friday, April 4, 2008


Here in this sanctuary of the night
I wake and rise, then sit, compose and write,
For only here and now may I draw near
That secret solitude where thoughts appear.

The night is still, my mind grows keenly calm,
The fragrance of the tea I sip’s a balm
Wafting me to a height of consciousness
Where sound and sense and image coalesce.

This spell I enter lasts an hour or two,
A rapture out of which comes something new
Produced by fusing intellect with air,
The stuff of thought inspired, refined, made rare.

I cannot help but feel that self and soul
Collaborate to shape what here is whole.