There are glimpses of what’s beyond
Locked within our souls;
There are treasures of another time
We seldom dare behold,
Yet which we carry deep down inside
Through the killing holes of despair.

There is thinner air for us to breathe,
Another layer beyond the weave we know;
We sense it only seldom,
But yet the sense can grow,
Sometimes through drink and conversation.
For there is no known elation
To equal the flight of kindred souls
Elevated beyond the quotidian tedium
To planes on which, however briefly,
Spirits meet and self is whole,
For once beyond the exigencies of detail.

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