My Days are deep, dark nights Deep, dark nights of pain.

Pain gained from misplaced trust

In the frail constitution of the human name.

My Nights are long, lonely vigils 

Vigils on account of pain

Pain earned through day-long labours

On the hard knock school of earning daily bread.

My Weeks are a string of Days and Nights

Strung together by sheer belief

Belief in the resilience of the Spirit

And the lack of sense to know when to quit.

My Months are a necklace of Weeks and Weeks

Held by a string of sand

Sand that can’t be broken but slips

Through every hand that grasps.

My Years are a voyage into distant Lands

Lands that I know must exist 

Lands where people roam free from themselves 

And there is no distinction between land and sea

My Life is an Age of Endless Time

Time that does not exist

A conjecture of the human mind

How then will I ever exit?
(From the upcoming, The Book of Dreams).