treasure trove of prophecies

As the mist settles on this

Cold winter's day I insist

That the old road by the village

Is freed from tyranny and pillage.

As the dust flies about I look

For love on life's roundabout,

Searching in the hearts of giants,

Dwarfed by my circumstances.

There is a little waft of hope

In the stillness of the breeze,

Winter's cold has me bolted

Out like a heavy heart that is freezed.

I may be a little sad now but I 

Have lit the flame of victory,

From the smouldering ash of

Redemption, seeking serenity.

Years have passed and I sit

By the road of a place that is

No more the village, a collage

Of experiences, atop the old hill.

A bustling slice of human life

Wraps me in its fold, and all strife

Has shed to reveal the shaft

From the sword, and I laugh

At life's circumstances: what

I feared befell me, all my dreams

Are a reality; development is the

Way for a heavy heart with hope.

What is life really but a magical

Stone, a wish granting jewel,

A treasure trove of prophecies

That shatters all fallacies.