Lee Handly
You read and you feel it, fleeting before you, Momentary, transient, ephemerally it whispers, Leading you toward, calling you further to That which is your arête. Your name, an assemblage of meaningless characters, A designation for a definition unknown, Has meaning for others, but not for yourself, Devoid, bereft, of arête.
Thinking in paradigms, cyclical, repetitive, Doubtful of your own lucidity, Checking mirrors, clocks, spinning in circles, A mnemonic for nomenclature: Arête. And yet, unexpected, the blossoming of the lotus, A moment uncontrollable by time, No ripples, untouched, pristine in its beauty, Purpose; understanding; arête.
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