I am your universe
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There is a spirit announcing a spirit of glass a spirit behind me a spirit called past There is a spirit deceiving to be what is not to be a whole thing to be my last shot There is a spirit encroaching a spirit to feel a spirit of beginning a spirit called real There is a spirit bleeding to be here with me to be my punctuation to be my reality There is a spirit within a spirit of darkness a spirit of light a spirit called yes There is a spirit... Oh my to be unspoken to be heard by me to be love's token Yes, there is a spirit a spirit without wings a spirit unbroken a spirit who sings Oh my...
Way up beyond the blue is where candles are made
the ones that flicker within us
the ones that shine through us
the ones that melt away.
We are but a waxwork of imagination
thought up by a dying light needing something to burn.
We are flickering in our many guises of waxen dolls.
Molten bodies mix easily in the soup bowl
ready to be formed into whatever the light desires.
Yet, we flicker away
we flicker away just because our wax is different
we flicker away, unknowing that all wax is the same
be it scented, long-burning, coloured, wide, thin…
Wax is wax
and the light is fading
and the imagination whence we came
is shrinking, melting
until only the shrivelled wick of existence remains.
The light that begins ultimately dies if it isn’t fed the love of all.
Imagine the love of all flickering
imagine the candle
imagine the light.
Imagine wax moulded from imagination
melting until only the shrivelled wick of existence remains.
Perhaps one day we shall no longer need to wax poetic
perhaps one day we shall
be one race.
We are the imagined
let’s make us real
light your heart
love all
be the one candle
to ignite the race for Love.
We are never alone, even when we feel broken, when our solitude hurts, for there is always a remembered presence of a feeling from a moment when we were touched by another’s soul whose feathers, broken as they were, became a warm seed of healing inside us, almost as if, by being damaged, they released some essential matter, some essential magnetism which attracted the same from us.
And there you see, even in our painful solitude, we are never alone if we can pause to remember that soft touch of pain from broken wings.
We aspire to exist
within the intimacy of love
only to realise
Love doesn’t belong
to the human race.