Satori

From where are born those little dreams made only of words? From the secret part of my myriad mind? Or is it someplace much, much deeper, far beyond any form, beyond time, beyond even God? I know not! For each comes like a solo songbird suddenly sitting on the sill of an open window, singing its brief song just for you... whilst you try, try hard to recall it all and share it with a tiny, tiny slice of this vast, cold, and indifferent world.... And if you can catch the song, (the song that is every dream) and seed it into a poem, then perhaps another may dream and dream and....