The lion up at dawn's first light, The Antelope flees, a morning's flight. |
In quest for clarity, I tread, Seeking peace, mind's serenade. Imperfect perfection, my creed, Spawned by the world, my seed. The lion up at dawn's first light, The Antelope flees, a morning's flight. The fabric of my being, set, Man labors, dreams beset. Events blur dreams, reality shaped, A mountain of gold, one's greed draped. Hustle ceaseless, break to renew, Time lost, the cocoon's tale rings true. Evolve I must, to perfect the hue, Of life's canvas, ever anew. What tales they'll tell, of my strife? Lost within, the dance of life. Transcendent, this mortal coil, Man aids, betrays, his toil. Emotions, seasons intertwine, Gold mountain, harbinger of decline. Man of the house, stripped and scarred, Lost in lands both near and far. Not man enough, fate's cruel hand, In foreign sands, his soul unmanned. |