It flows

in the halls of my mind...

The words flow like a wind from the east,
bringing release, carrying peace in its wake.
The words—one by one, sentence after another—
run, walk, and wander the halls of my mind.

I dwell in the mist that veils possibility,
mocking just enough to keep me searching.
In the lush magical garden of my creation
I plant luminous golden seeds with intent.

You walk there too sometimes; one day you just appear,
waving happily at the others who gather there to dwell.
Together we stroll the glowing path of my garden,
leading us out into the deeper woods.

There is a pull, a calling—we both feel it clear,
urging us closer, faster—yet stoic, we keep our pace.
Deeper, deeper we go—open, curious, brave…
Drifting weightless toward the gift waiting to be seen.

The words flow—now like a wind from the west,
carrying echoes of what has been lost…
yet whispering notions of who has been found…
While I run, walk, and wander the halls of my mind.