I know not the fate of what lies ahead
there seems such an emptiness instead.
So, here I'll stop to 'skent' a rhyme.
Traveling through time, to a certain place in mind:
the scenes I only portray, leave this to say:
When given a place to dwell: perhaps a wishing
well, toss fortune within: certain, untell
your dreams of tomorrow are born alive and then,
Commence with the lines as if known well.
What Lies Ahead, One Can Only Tell.
To 'Skent' the reality is perchance a token.
From within, soft words are gently spoken:
the promises to keep somewhere unbroken,
show symbols, a clear path to see:
a place in time to know instantly
Radiating throughout ... each thought becomes real:
each vision is realized; ... every dream a reality.
And yet, heed fast the fortune of tokens to spend.
For the wishes of time are yet merely to mend.
What One Can Tell.
May Only...Lie Ahead.