I regret,
not rising.
I regret,
not receiving.
I regret,
not coming to the point.
The objects of my sloping attention,
Are set on rails. Do you know what I mean?
They will never meet,
though they still may form a team.
I regret……………………………
………………………………………
………………………………………
………………………………………
………………… but I’m not sorry!
I am meant to be looked at,
like a reflection of a face.
I am meant to be read,
like a book of accounts.
I am meant to spread together,
what is spread out in time and space.
Please do not conjecture,
nor hazard a guess.
Instead prepare a panel
to proclaim what I express.
Standing in a circle
bound by hidden thread
We loom into the landscape
of the sky, but,
Are there others who could
stand in our stead?
Of what are we composed
but God’s hidden breath.
Is is true that the stars
define our breach and depth?
O, Wayfarer,
who looks for guidance
is our seeming substance
what we truly are?
Look to the heart who holds us
in its sway,
and you will have the answer.
Who are we pray?
Dear reader!
It won’t be until after the Christmas season that a more regular posting to altair astrology is possible. As a small consolation I present you riddle 17. 😉
A happy 3rd Advent.
Through the land I go,
without standing,
ever on the move.
I may stoop,
though no burden
weighs me down.
I may stoop,
but not as fast
as one of the creatures
of the realm.
Some would say I drift about;
Others that I am on a quest.
What would you suggest?
We sing a song
of seeming silence.
Only one of us
is without voice.
We are conventional.
Not at all rare.
But steadfast?
Encompassing?
That is not our affair.
Courtesy you can have
from two,
Comportment is not
known to the rest of the crew.
Altair Astrology 