There’s a fire in my belly,
And a song on my lips.
Through voids and voyages, a gentle heart drifts.
We move countries, mountains, places
Walking dazed in between spaces
Often empty, sometimes full
Rummaging past the worldly pull.
What maketh a man, they ask?
Is it the mountains or the skies?
Or the sound of a soft lullaby,
To which, a baby cries.
Is it the honey to which the bees cling?
Or the blowing winds which make the trees sway and swing?
Dust to ashes, Ashes to dust
In the quest to fathom the mysteries of this Universe…