It is morning that sunrise brings,
I wake, if to wake is to open my eyes.
The sun pours in through the material,
And patterns the foundations.
A slow approach thats aim is to stand non-horizontal,
One, then another helps to reach the handle.
Leads away from myself,
To destinations known and other.
Restoration is not far, it is from a source,
That is exiled from the three of world.
The gift to us that give to many others,
And then some are left unworthy.
But is it needed? For the world to stay sturdy,
Tracks are made now, and the stages they unfold.
The 24 hour quartered into,
Chambers of your mind and clock.
If there is only this to live by,
Are those left gifted still left ignorant?
Without function there is no normal,
And minds become confused.
There must be more than this so surely,
It's not as plain as black and white.
What fate decides upon control,
And what cards shouls now be dealt.
Only the real and of the truth,
Can be utterly, surely felt.
Megsan - 10/11/03