34 - Sculptors of our becoming

In the land of the rising sun, we stand upon a shore, And there, joined by other solitary souls,

Together conscious, behold the break of dawn.

Not hours but years may pass before the new day

Reaches those continents of the common mind.

Thirty-four, fifty-five, eighty-nine and counting.

Be still and hear the sound of the forest mounting.

On the distant darkened western shores,

the driven hordes deny the coming of the light,

not knowing, not feeling, the depth of their night.

Our love has led us to the edge of all knowing.

The void is our promised land, vast and overflowing.

And we, awakened, are the sculptors of our becoming.

._______

LEO's musical association:

Elegy by Lisa Gerrard

#NewDay#Seine#Bridges