First, the circle of the land, sun in sky,
moon in hand; time and space to understand.

Next, the circle of the mind, smart to try,
perhaps to find knowledge can’t be cruel or kind.

Feeling passion without end - often cry.
Good-bye friend; greetings you will never send.

Circle where the saintly hosts seem to fly
with idle ghosts; and the Prince of Lies can boast.

Appearing to permeate withal, “Simply I,”
the I shall call.  You aren't who you thought at all.

Now, into the center of bliss.  Echoing sigh,
soothing kiss of the things you thought you missed.

When you reach the realm of light low and high,
what is sight?  Pass to day and leave the night.

Seven Circles Of The Son

Fiery wreathes of rage spiral,
circling, emerging invincible force
boundless and bound as Evil’s bane.

Entwined, enmeshed the threaded borderline;
matter with spirit mingling.  Shade plays light.
Astral demons cast lies upon pain.

Fractal belief cripples mortal souls
within ever-tightening coils of slight regard;
dalliances with vanity insane.

On beds where trees promenade
corpses that will never know the spirit’s clash.
The earth writhes and regains.

Two souls reach.  Meet connection.
Darkness recoils from radiating atonement
closing the circle once again.

Cycle

From great distance
I see you
who won't look back.
So, I wonder.
Do you know you can?
Yet, who am I to expect?
Who are you to deny
inverted expansions
where we pool?
As you flounder
in surety of purpose
days go by
passing your future.
Prana's fools
losing the tide
that would raise us
breathlessly.

Current

Outside it is as it was.
So many turns to take,
but the road runs straight.
Inside, no different,
reflecting time spent.
Fear hangs firmly,
pushed under vainly,
recalled seldom.
Never summoned,
an atmosphere
refusing banishment.
Offspring spring forth,
embrace gleeful hope;
wings wilt instantly
in thickly-heated gasps
stunned, descending
into welcoming
arrogant arms.

Borne

We fell
to land here;
a knot
of me, and thee.
Fully,
we turn
in our dream
as the world;
as we.
The mist,
humid breath
of life
still as death,
shall rise
soon (though not)
as me and thee;
raindrops
from the sea.

One Is Two