This day the trees beckon, bare armed
What whispering soliloquies they speak to the firmament.
Or is it that my eyes betray to the world the turmoil in my heart
Colouring each and every ray of light from the munificent Sun
Till starlight itself is blinded by the melancholy emanating from my being.
From what cause I ask such poison flows,
What deed of mine manifests this,
Rational reasoning faltering upon the alter of emotion.
Effortlessly the World turns with the majesty bestowed upon it,
By the One Truely Majestic,
With every beat my heart courses this
Debilitating essence through the Universe.
Upon this surface who is present to see the ripples
Undulating each and every atom of my existence,
Who is present to know.
But then like Schrödinger the observer would see only
That which they wish to see
Except the one versed in matters of discernment.
Till such an alchemist appears I must abstain from collapsing.
Impotent in this condition I function, passively reflecting,
Therein lies the wisdom of my state, for I am born helpless,
To this day and each instant thereafter I remain so.
It would appear the elixir has arrived from the Hakim,
My soul stirs, pirouetting to join reality with existence.
