ORACLES, RUNES AND ANCIENT MOONS:

I am seeking the truth & the reasons for me,

Purpose of my life, of all I cannot & all I can see,

I am trudging always, from pillar to post & back,

Garbed forever in doubt, in sin´s ashes & old sack.

 

I walk through mosque, temple & church with steeple,

I go talking to the Gurus, Masters & all kinds of people,

I ask also of the Imam, the Seer & the self confessed Sage,

And I even talk to the Priest, in his dark confessional cage.

 

I seek through the oracles & the old tossed wooden runes,

And in the throwing of dried bones, under African moons,

The dark Spanish gypsies have told me, it´s not to be found,

Not within the blood of the ox, nor in the baying of hounds.

 

It´s not in the potion of witches, not in their wands or herbs,

It´s not in astrologer’s stars, nor within the flying of birds,

Not even in the asking of cards, does the tarot truth tell,

Not in the existence of Heaven, nor the burning fires of hell.

 

I trudge into the forest where the Druid keeps his oak Grove,

Where he chanted in shadows of dappled gold & old mauve,

He looked deep in my eyes, saying, “If you´re seeking your whole,

It´s only by looking inward, that you´ll find your heart & your soul”.