Copyright 1986, S Hartwell

We are living in a world of limits,
Devised by our own minds,
Wrought by our own hands,
And calculated in hours and minutes,
Flawed and finite in design.
So lover take me by the hand,
Step with me into a far stranger land,
To build our castles in the air,
And etch our names in the shifting sands,
Of unruled time.

We live in a world of confusion,
We are self contained and sad,
Innumerable, transient, flawed,
Immersed in an illusion
Of solidity, we may go mad.
Let me put my hand in yours
And lead you through the willing doors
Within your mind, and when we reach
An understanding of ourselves, then we may teach

If I COuld Fly Like An Eagle
Copyright 1985, S Hartwell

If I could fly like an eagle in the vaults of the sky,
Iíd glide across the highest places where ice and snow forever lie,
And soar above the lofty mountain tops in the icy mountain breeze,
While below me, icy mountain streams flow swiftly to the seas,
And soaring in the thin clear air - there would be me.

I could follow the streams to their tumbling paths to the seas,
From the rarified air of the peaks to the grass scented breeze,
Soaring over lowland pastures lush and the forestsí rich dark greens,
As the streams widen into rivers which water the ever-changing scenes,
On and out to the mighty cliffs which bound the untamed seas.

I could wheel above the arid plains where rivers rarely flow,
Or soar in hot dry currents and the desert sands below,
But if I were a winged beast, I would choose to spread my wings and fly,
High above the peaks and crags where ice and snow forever lie,
And all the rocks and boulders would echo with my cry.


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