Truth

We live

in a

Formless

world

Nothing lasts

because All is

Potential

Transience is our

Essence

Our birthright is expansion

Renewal.

But in this flux

This dynamism

There is perpetual loss.

Like water from palms of our hands

Our futile attempts to freeze the stream of consciousness

With hypothermic, lifeless logic

Leaves us hollow

Wanting

Unseen holes in the fabric of this tapestry

We desperately gasp for light

Snuffing it out of one another

Failing to see that

We

Are

It

We

Are

That

Which we ceaselessly seek

Our lives a desperate attempt to bite our own teeth

To light our own Fire with Fire

But every now and then

Everyone thousand years or so

We find our Compass

That shines alone and of itself

Pure Gold

A whispering sun that illuminates the untouched, but felt realm of virtue

Where the Angel that guides your Soul from this realm to the next

Rests.

Only so long as you’re awake.

In your dreams, she holds you in her wings.

The Mother of all good things and Father of the bad.

A set of wings for both. A shade, a dance of light away from each other.

And there we are, resting in the middle.

Caretaker and taken.

That Angel is Truth. That Angel is You.