One looks at life through all there is -
A flame - a spark, a sense of hope;
Swept by a wave, a cold-warm breeze,
A rainbowed lucid film of soap.
One feels the wind, one hears the sounds,
The more one draws upon one's mind -
Above the sky, below the grounds,
And what was left in life behind.
One hopes at life unfold its sense,
From all that bounds deep to its core -
And there are hopes and much nonsense,
All winds that break a prison's door.
One hears the pray in soundless voice,
It stirs the mind, the feelings, all,
It sinks so deep in all its noyce,
Attracted by a fancied call.
