Healer, thy ways are winding.
Constant to the mind, in all else divined.
Content to your kind, the personal steps away from the self.
In the knowing and the known, untethered in being, outside of its reap, and into the sown.
Inside or outside, the cognition swings minding wings.
A pawn in time, its crowning sings.
But a treasure of any measure mends its parameters to adulatory and auditory stipulations.
There is a step as the stairway sends its ends to adore.
Upon its knock, endured. To be sure, in its astrological sighs.
As the astronomical speak light years in time for the stars to hear it.
There is a twinkle, like a the memory in sentiment confined.
Like a lock without a key in discovery of its own agency.
D-I-S-C-O very much. And yet there is always a key to groove.
Should you choose to find it. Within or without, vowel to consonant whereabouts.