Through Night & Shadow

Have we prayed, my love; warring against principalities in

high places? We often wait tiptoeing tightrope and tragedy.

I feel you—a lilac vase, fraught with feeling and favor,

forced to fathom hypocrisy. Thus a soul disenchanted, filled

with life, and semi-ambivalent. But here’s an orchid, my

love: a petal and tear for hearts that beat, and souls that fly;

and so astute, a flute and harp, streaming texture, and

chanting waves. I see you an eyeful of truth sprinkled

through fragile filters witnessing both life and death. Ever

choose and dance and dream and dare to fashion growth.

Else perish torn and confused afraid of self and dearly

unwelcomed. Indeed, thought is an art where diligence is

mandated and thus required. So dedicate soul to sorting

through both sloth and sludge.