Is there such a thing, as more or less sane?
It would seem so to the passing world
There are those we smile towards,
And those we move away from
Often not concerned with anything
But appearance and civility
Monstrous actions hide well
Behind a smile & clement façade.
Yet I write toward the inner landscape
With it’s own polarities and direction
Are there fair lands, or only desert made
To bloom wondrous after a rain ending
Drought of many lifetimes?
Are the thoughts and feelings we traverse
familiar ground made strange by the dawn or
Twilight of the day and time?
What is it to have an inner companion
On this journey, as alone we traverse this terrain
Our own souls passage amidst the
Two fold lands, awesome and awful
Grown familiar, and dear
Like our heart; stalwart companion.
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