Pilgrimaje

The course of time, upon unraveling its thread Has spun the treasure of experience of things living Yet, in the concert that salutes the song of being There is an instrument that loves itself instead The will of man, the noise of history prevailed Over the noble, humble silence that lies standing Watching the stars, with leaves and eyes and understanding The sweetest melody that words could never veil The sword that swings the dance of death we keep on forging Turning our backs, walking away from that embrace We conquered nature in our dreams, but are still longing In search of meaning in the midst of fall from grace The sense of oneness emanating from belonging Unending love, the face of truth that we've erased