Clue. Poem by Peter Berglind

Along at an extended edge…
Standing empty, ruminating and looking for password.
Confused and a bewildering darkness
whirling round inwardly.
Searching for caprice…
The mind tells me that
physical strength can never permanently
withstand the impact of spiritual force,
and at a time which after
stand standing on one leg.
The sand runs through the hourglass
and an inner sense says
it is better to conquer yourself
than to win a thousand battles.
Then the victory is yours.
It cannot be taken from you,
not by angels or demons,
heaven or hell.
Amid my direction, proportion and ratio
everything roots
and an inner essence of a flagrant notice
occurs in the dense silently fog.