Experiment with Multimedia...

Picture that before it’s gone, 
the patterns of the maker at the golden dawn. 
Where are his sheep and where is his horn? 
He lies there in ecstasy, yet to be born.

Arise, awake your bones I shake.
Be true to the pitch, be kind to the snake.
There are no matches, nothing alike.
Search for a flint, something to strike.

That hollow log resembles a home, 
make it your own, assemble a throne.
Do it now before you start thinking, 
the ship you were on, inevitably sinking.

Return to a life among sisters and brothers, 
at one with plants, trees, and fur-covered others
manifestations shaped by god’s hands, 
the left-behind children of foreign lands.