The Meeting

 

                Dedicated to those who have difficulty making friends

      The seeker stumbles through morass of sticky grey where shadows play

                                     Games of collusion with illusion

 

                                      She holds a passport in her eyes

                                   Contained within – her book of lives

                  A mirror held so none can see what is behind as all reflects

 

                                      Her child wriggles to be free

                          Of rainbow mask and cap stretched o’er head

                                      Protection in the Land of Web

                                    And quite by chance, or is it so?

                                       She bumps into another glow

                                         Is this friend or is this foe?

 

                                                 The mirrors face

                                                The watch begins

                                    For lies and other frightful things

 

                                Through this exchange of ebb and flow

                                     She catches sight of other’s toe

                                She yells and whoops in sheer delight

                               With sword in hand she jumps right out     

 

                                                           And

 

                    Swiftly demarcates a power ring to play, cavort and sing

                                       In sacred light where no time is

                                                            And

                                             Truth is shared instead

                                            Even in the Land of Web