Hand upon the page
Poised for the great transition
A silent question.
Possibility becomes
Manifest. Revelation!

---

Do you think I could
Wait calmly for your return
Alone on Myst Island
While you face him all alone?
We fight this war together.

---

Signs on the walls of
An empty cleft in the rock
Where are the hands that
Shaped them? Gone. Sands rush in, to
Scour away memories.

---

We make our future
With this defining flourish
Of the pen. Believe
In what you say. For your words
Have a way of coming true.

---

With perserverance
The most reluctant stone yields
Although it may crack
In spite of your best efforts.
My brain has the same problem.

It may be, Atrus
That the next page you write
Is your finest Age.
I believe you will only be happy
So long as there are pages still to be written
And Ages still to explore.

A cavern large enough to hold a world
And a hundred Ages
And six thousand years
And countless dreams
Was still not large enough to hold
One man's hatred.

Inscribed transitions
A window of black beckons:
Touch me. Drink me. Now
Imagined, visualized;
Soon manifest, certain.

Appearances are
Too often denigrated.
So what if there's more?
This is here! And so are we.
Let us drink what is given.

One wave caressing
The dunes of a barren shore
Rises, crests, spills out
Its whole existence. Nothing
rivals transient beauty.

In my fist there lies
A secret. Can you guess what
It is? Come closer.
Hold out your palm. Then I'll share.
It is the hand of friendship!

Climbing vines adorned
The cloister walls and archways
Of mica-flecked gray stones.  
The ivy would have pulled down
The walls. But I still miss it.