Strange, but beautiful smells are dancing sweet in the air.
Its dead of winter, but there is a scent of flowers everywhere.
Auras of light now slowly shift across a silky gray haze
As the creation of the Creators conception,
separates into dual, yet insignificant illuminations of the day.
Sensations are now beheld from a time long lost,
and vibrations titillate the recesses of this weary mind.
Journeys and adventures of a vicarious youth manifest,
with benevolent treatises that reach out to taste the brevity of our time.
Unable to explain…I cede reason to that which has none.
I grapple no more and relieve myself with His will be done.
For it is by His grace that this day was made,
and someday, there will be an explanation
to the purpose of these trials which I now face.
So therefore, until that day which I shall greet,
I will consume the strangely sensations that are but mine to keep.
J. Allen Wilson © 2006