of silent gusts from wind-swept wisps of passing time
to stillness as it lays in muted tombs of calm repose
so rests the soul whose breadth and depths sublime
bequeath its essence bare to tranquility’s closest floes

and bids the stillness of that calm to gently ride the night
and branch the rampage of its course to segregate
its force into quiet streams and rivulets of light
that curtail the resonant finger-like stems that stimulate

the heart to breath, exhaling, inhaling, breathing deep within
swallowing life and all its schemes, love and all its dreams
quietly, calmly, supposing the stillness calm, but then
ebbs as waters abate while morning moonlight dis-enbeams

disenchantment’s dreams