The last one anyone believes, is the eldest soul
who can never be conceived. Seekers of the
small inner voice, will find a breath of
memory, much like the ocean of forgetfulness
who finds sleep instead of dreams.
When we first met, you were all smiles at
the great Dawn, feeling as if you had
met an old friend. But there was a small
tremble in your voice, when my
smile began to roar with silence.
The next day you returned –
but this time with Wit, that nervous
and unsure truth, which replaces
the small inner voice.
I whispered :
“Dawn shall never meet the Dusk,
just as the small inner voice
shall never touch eternity.”
When you visit me carrying only
a single mirror, it will reflect only
that. A ‘wellspring’ Soul can only
bow to the dawn at dusk.
~ phoenix poem