I stand in heaven with my eyes closed;
While dancing with the King:
Aromatic as the Cherry Tree;
With a breath of new-born spring.
I’ve felt clouds around my ankles,
Dust up and tickle me.
And like a white-cap in the ocean,
I roll across the sea.
I am not meant to follow;
Nor am I meant to lead.
I can write in tongues, unearthly.
From blood I’ll never bleed.
And when I’m rolling thunder,
I roar into the night;
Or become the lightening from my quiver:
Striking wrongs to make them right.
I’m a sister of the Horae;
And the seasons make me wait:
On the tinctures made for living;
While I’m spinning what’s called fate.
For I can paint the constellations,
Should you need to travel time.
And with one wish you can escape me;
For I cannot hold what is not mine.
I sail a vessel known as Pithos;
Fueled by gifts one cannot wrap.
My sails, made of a golden fleece,
To navigate by their own map.
And for those who think I’m magic?
I’m not to cast a spell:
For in the book, Mortality,
We live in heaven and in hell.
I walk the world beside you.
I’m the shadow when you’ve pain.
I’m the hopes which feed the breezes balm;
When it’s time to stop the rain.
I’m the fairy-dust you look for,
When you feel alone and blue.
And I’m the little voice reminding,
Your dreams can all come true.
You see, I am the smallest part
Of everything we share.
From the first truth that we realize,
To a heart so true it’s bare.
Compassion it’s our appetite.
Completion is our quest.
And if we live all that we’re given;
We’ve lived a life expressed.
Top photo: Bigstock