Soul's desire
Time is the surgeon of great wounds that cannot be healed by the hands of men, even with tools of silver and steel born from the earth and forged by fire.
Time is the womb of God and the cradle of consciousness.
In her bosom she holds the shapes of all things, and in her shapes lays the paths to divine realms of shapelessness.
She is not the giver of light but the distance of its reach.
She is not the giver of life,
but the clay in which life grows.
She is not sorrow or joy, only then to be a storm and a rainbow.
Man cannot measure her endlessness, rather then she is the measurer of man's ascension and eternally endless soul.
And as mortals leave her hard and trying grace, their longing to embrace her again and again becomes their soul's desire and their fate and their destiny.
dan
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Ron