--bridge-builder--

i’d like to thank the wise youth who shared the following poem . . .
it touches my spirit in a way none could . . . for it elucidates my soul in a way none has . . .

The Bridge Builder
by Will Allen Dromgoole

An old man, going along the highway,
Came at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast and deep and wide,
Through which was flowing a raging tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.
"Old man," said a fellow-pilgrim near,
"You are wasting your strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the closing day;
You never again will pass this way.
You've crossed the chasm, deep and wide.
Why build you this bridge at even tide?"
The builder lifted his old gray head.
"Good friend, in the path I have come," he said,
"There followeth after me today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm which has been nought to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be;
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim,
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him."

To all those who are crossing the bridge, do think about and appreciate the builders of the bridge.

To all the bridge-builders, thank you for building the bridge. May we all get to meet again on the Other Side . . .

foli.age

~*~foli.age~*~
True wealth cannot be gained by mere desire
Authentic youth cannot be achieved by superficial adornment
Real health cannot be attained by advanced medicine

meet the indelibles

No words can describe my emotions that swell upon facing the revelation of the history of a wise youth. Wise youths, as they are, have survived insurmountable experience which, through endless Grace and Mercy of The Most Beneficient, cultivates in themselves and in their lives an excellent archetype for wishful learners.

Disclaimer: self-promotion is not the spirit of this oeuvre

a new hope

The new soul has awakened.
New days are being embraced.

the prologue

What can i say, if i may in the first place? Time is a most precious Gift that slips by so lucidly. More often than not, i’ll let it pass by without looking back. And why would i not? Life is beautiful . . .

Yes, indeed, beauty is subjective. It is seen, or rather, recognized solely by the beholder. Whatever the sight that sets upon the eyes of the beholder is analyzed and defined within the parameters that the beholder has already outlined in prior, and not without circumstantial variance. The human soul carelessly defines everything through the knowledge that resides within. Plus, that knowledge is limited to the experiences of the soul.

Experiences of the soul. That is just what this coffer of belles-lettres is going to be about. A compilation of the incoherent expressions that serves way beyond simple narration, this magnum opus nonetheless is not intended to be an oracle, though time may have proven that the wealth of experience amassed has significantly been enriching my soul and enhancing my life salubriously . . .

This life, as of everything else, undoubtedly originates from The Infinite cos nothing can ultimately begin with the finite. The human soul is actually aware of the Existence of The Infinite, The One Whom no amount of human logic nor experience can truly grasp. Now. If The Infinite is truly so, then the Gift of life is beyond comprehensible beauty. The very thought of it all stimulates the conscience like no other and is more than sufficient to jolt the minds of drifting souls immersed in the hum-drum of life . . .

Hasten, hasten now.

And so . . . the prologue . . . concluded with a silent dawn indiscernible to the hardened soul . . .

prolegomena

ITS rays permeate through the shades . . .
imperceptibly . . .
Gradually suffusing the room . . .

Verily, darkness is parting . . .