Our unrestrained imagination
roams freely, finding treasures,
gathers precious stones
like jewels in a jasper cup.
To the wind's twelve quarters
we take our endless way,
and breathless, starry-eyed we play.
The immense galaxy is ours.
The mart of power, the fount of will
the form and mold of every star
the key of all the things that are
oh that and this, the new and strange
in every age can turn the year. The bad;
can shift the poles and lightly change
the mood of men, the world's career.
Who knows?
Can even make
the
gift
of
peace.
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Author Notes
The endless search for the formula of lasting peace and happiness, who does not know that? I tried in this poem.
In February I posted a similar, though much shorter version. This new one is so different, that I thought I could post it as another poem altogether. I hope you like it.
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