Welcoming a stranger

A speck in the eye

and the wind hums

a Caledonian lullaby

of mist on glass

while I,

ignoring selfish anguish

masquerading villainy

listen;

hearing

nothing but a stranger

on the fringe:

Force nothing fruitless little one

go back to grief no more

why do you thrash the river, to swim

upstream and rot

why do you murder soul of self, to spite

the all, and all for naught?

become your truth and see,

the beetle finds its flower

and so the flower finds its being

you are all and everything,

we are but the same,

find purpose

in the air you breath

in the earth you walk, your name

your flame is molten blood within

and without,

the stars,

and when it rains in oceans

so too,

you are the storm

there is nothing simpler,

said the stranger

than the madness

of a wandering within

the speck of grief that grows

is a sacred

sorrow,

dear Lalioken