__~Peace from within my hands
White mountain snow
Within, that which I know
Nodding to the voices in my head, to some no
In line with my thoughts, in my mind I saw
Swift to the wind, it flies away
Light to the currents, it is swayed
Upon scales weighed
Things left not said
Stones laid, times delayed
My hands now empty
Sad...fell to pity
A toddler, through youth, now eighty
Fallen grace, now mighty
Of spirit, that of a deity
Joy... away with self pity
Fine leather...a different fabric
Greek, Spanish...spoke Arabic
Risen from fear, phoric ain't phobic__
©fredrick o
F