sip words from the silver screen
wonder beyond the ancient wood
for in the darkness of fantasy
we touch the strange faces of our dreams
we pluck the golden wire of vibration
essential to the founding of fondness
i am but a wayfarer!
cloaked in the brush-white veil
the stream is my path
the painted faces are my reflection
our limitless quantum string
tinkering in the pulsating mist
we are here?
and we are there…
moments and time disappear
but little soul-etchings remain
they are the powders we sift
the dew drops we collect
and in a glass they all belong
countless memories from the season
they tickle the souls of my feet
for here at the desk drawn brown
close my eyes and wait…
but there is nothing in the waiting
there are only sounds that i see
they flutter like pretty little fairies
from the dust torn pages of old.
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 1/2/12
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