So you wondered what it would be like to take a trail into the unknown?
Where the phantoms guard the way and there appears no way home.
Through copper beech and chestnut leaves the answers to me fly
through orchids and spiked pinpricks from thorns that knew no wrong.
But the desert of tomorrow. Foundations made of stone.
Empires out of sand, the castle brings me back to a fortune in glory
and a masters in deceit, the fallacy of autocracy, the Arab or the Greek.
The Hellenistic principles, Keats romantic verse,
the communistic voices, a traveller at his peak,
disrobed, unveiled in glory, the learner and his life.
The wise man and the shepherd, the husband with his wife.
The collective unconscious, unconditional love,
wider than obsession, tougher than a rough edged quilt.
A figure of perfection is the aroma of dreams.
In a land resurrecting passion, failed schemes
in the living, there is plenty of love for us all to go round.
The vines of perfection, the sounds that surround.
The perfect chalice, words of advice,
given to convey a whole world of life.