To See A World In A Grain Of Sand To see a world in a grain of sand And heaven in a wild flower Hold infinitely in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour —William Blake (1757–1827)*

Profound Simplicities At first we spoke of maths, Then we leaped in to ideas of consciousness and the language of the universe. Then we spoke of television Until everything we knew shriveled up into a ball and bounced away Onto the playground Where we spoke of maths.

Soaring Immaculate Engulfed in a meticulous nature Unblemished by man Afar from the City's eye, For it is a sham Where Time is not valued And not what you'll miss; Feel the rhythm of the wind As it renders eternal bliss With an appetite for discovery— Without so-called potential, Meditative thinking, Is a most valued credential In a transported absence, Be within what you've known With infinite eyes, See behind what's been shown Free from the City's grasp— A prolonged suspension, Pity its lack of perception Of this unforeseen dimension No mundane motion, No gesture so obscene, No pollution or politician Can plague what's exquisite and pristine Though obscured by an absence of hue, the City is deceivingly bright Eclipsed is Nowhere, By an iridescent light While withdrawn within, Like an unborn child, You must wake eventually To see the city run wild

I Sat Down To Write To spew out everything that was in my heart and soul— My mind I then reflected on all the other writers Who had gone before me It was going to be a pointless day