Title: Although I Cannot Write You

On a Sun soaked Saturday, I stood in Revere
of the articulation, that had lavished my Mind's ear.
I had solemnly sighed, bare hand on my chest
for His Spirit I breathed, on a Wind from the West.

Thine words like Thunder, bore down the oxford halls,
for non-belief, is not belief for all.
Blind minds judge they virtue with ironic steed,
they know not the cause, but their judgments proceed.

Undaunted by sheep, you Illumined a road,
it fashioned my Mind, like fixation in Stone:
a perception of life, so grand like a poem;
--To Music, to Freedom; Creations our own.

On horseback through Air, you lead me to a lair.

It rested in a Valley under the Clouds
amidst a Flock of Forest, Serene Sylvan town.
With Mind's Eye I could see, that Life is pristine,
a true mystery of Elegance, that in Truth reigns supreme.
(-To Bysshe)