Photo by Christina Baldwin, (c) 2006

Music by Bruce Baldwin, (c) 2006

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There is a lucid silence within this foreign dwelling.

A convoluted splendor, a resurrected wisdom.

Where once a displaced infant roamed sacred chambers,

In search of perfect beauty that it would never attain.

There is a placid essence within this fortress, healing.

Magnificent garden, extravagant turmoil.

Where have we frolicked forthright? 

Would you stand waiting there, for the me without remorse?

Then we could begin again.

Where is our newfound brilliance?  Have we left ourselves behind?

Our convoluted splendor, our resurrected wisdom.

Have we a replaced conscience?  Have we used without regret,

In search of perfect beauty that we could never obtain again?