Scribed in shrine, a scripture so Devine.
By an ancient tribe who knew the wisdom of rhyme.
The knowledge was profound.
It was takin in shroud.
Over time became soundless.
Poetically slept, ....behind lock.
With no key to be kept.
No clues to be lead...
Only in the moments we’ve left.
If you take the right steps.
Love and respect,
for the art of self test.
Look around tell me what you see.
Accept the yearning.
Begot and be free.
You’ll find a language inside.
A bell to be chimed.
That no one can deny.
And only you can find.
If you strike that rich ground.
Thats where the magic will be found.
And the ringing of the sacred bell will finally sound.