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Free HTML Page CreatorThis floating stage .
This floating stage awaits us all
gentle steps or embodied fall.
To move and stay, then moving on
We work in stages to write our song.
We may but move through Time and Space
And from Reflect to Speculate.
Perform, Review and Audience place
The moves we make, our Maps create.
From the lowest of paid, to the richest Poor
We all love the freedom to imagine more.
Creators the few to realise in time
That to capture the thought, releases the Mind.
Creators script and scratch a life
For fun and games worthy the strife.
Out, complete, but never finished
The work remains, ne'er diminished.
Perceived in grand, noticed as best
Changes enforced and the chosen rest.
Pictures entrusted with all we know
The facts and the myths, caring not whether so.
Turn and turn, from inside to out
Quickly the spiral doth whisper or shout.
Choose the world with Love from hate
And occasionally Do, Speculate.
This floating stage awaits us all
gentle steps or embodied fall.
To move and stay, then moving on
We work in stages to write our song.
The light won't fade, however bright
The patterns are safe, as dreams at night
That paint next day like thoughts are made
And deeds become done, the creators' trade.
Others emerge, step from their life
Moving amongst they start to describe.
Absorb the actual and reflect the true
Riding the spiral of Do and Review
Breathe and step through Chaos' blur
Noticings are left, from Him to Her.
It's sad, unknown, and partly myst'ry
But Doing is clear, Now makes hist'ry.
You can but move, not stop nor turn
So send your message, regardless concern.
Do, again - ideas must fly
The only Try is that to end Why.
Do, Do and Do again, moving on through Time
Thinking the touch, arranging the rhyme.
Reflection position, review the riddle
Beginnings, Ends and mostly Middle.
The pleasure to wonder, deeper inside
The infinite leisure to think and hide.
Beware that thought, it deeper goes
The end is nought but further foes.
The sweated arts accepted by all
We cannot judge what we cannot call.
Gone, and done, the Nothing remains
The part that was from which All came.
Mal Williamson 2014
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