The world has its beat
a fine resounding note
that carries the dreams
of every soul, every being
Creature and form of life
Out upon the aethers and beyond.

The soft pounds of its rhythm
flood upon the wakened state
holds us to its whimper
the fears it holds of existence
that we as man so disturb
The delicate balance of nature.

It gathers the soft words
of bards, poets, shaman
dresses itself in the finery
of each petaled bloom
green blade and leaf
where dreams of time hold its beauty
And engraves its soul upon us.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph