Purchase a copy of my new book: To Marshal Love Against Tyranny
A hurt heart shelters from cold winds of November.
Silent moments whisper the beginning of a dark winter.
Replaying stricken memories for illusions of control.
Our world carries on while time tells stories of growing old.
Rites of passage burn away a boy who once was.
A man emerges from the ash of forgotten past love.
Scars of blades in the back spade into angel’s wings.
Calling divine orchestration, praying for new songs to sing.
Where does the difference live between darkness and the light?
Dancing intertwined, only perspective breeds wrong or right.
Does it matter if our names are lost to an ocean of history?
Will death’s first kiss plant seeds rooted in divinity?
Accepting others will always question notions of sanity.
All parts of us replaceable except the love we choose to leave.
Wouldn’t wish for anyone to walk a mile in awakened shoes.
With ignorance bliss, should we ever expect to receive the truth?
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this is beautiful. "Does it matter if our names are lost to an ocean of history?" < I had a long conversation about this with my 91 y/o friend just the other day. he's still looking for a proper starting point to begin writing about his experiences in life, while I've made a tentative beginning (and I'm not a fast writer). so while my answer to the above mentioned question is a firm "no, it doesn't", he disagrees, but there's a mutual respect. big TQ for sharing!
1st.
Mahalo for the beauty.