For most of us life passes like a dream,
Revealing only what is on our minds.
Inside the prison of the self we see
Each object as a shadow on our wall.
Nothingness awaits, as sure as night.
Did I not have you, dear friend, I might,
Shadow on a shade, not be at all.
How much we need a word beyond our sea:
In love and laughter, thoughts of different kinds,
Perhaps, with luck, unraveling a seam.
Source: http://www.blitz.ucoz.com | 
