Som'lorea

Three eyes that are unblinking,
Two minds, yet one that’s thinking,
One foot that is unwalking,
Three mouths, yet two are talking.

Two hands that bear a crown
Of one whose head which hears no sound,
Hoping to receive a throne,
Though they may receive their own.

Many lives of separate paths,
All with seeds that truly lasts;
Yet comes one with many ears
Laughing, asking with a jeer:

“Do you not know where you go?”
So, some ask “What do you know?”
“Only that the hidden path
Will not lead to that which lasts;

So, you must not go that way
Yet, nor with me, may you stay.
Now, go where the lily grows
Upon the path that has been sown.”

Then goes one with hanging head
Hearing still the words he said,
On a way that is not theirs,
Carrying another’s cares.

What am I, that leads the way
Into others’ guarded graves,
Giving gifts that have been taken
Mimicking “you’re mistaken”?

Creation carries precious keys
Given for great doors unseen;
Do not go upon the way
Of another, if you may.