Vicissitudes and Succor

Are My Words So Foreign Or Obtuse That You May Not, Within Them, See Truth? That We Live Together Within, While Without We Share, What May One Day, Become A Common View; A Mutual Love Born Beyond The Forming Of All Words. A View We May Adopt As Living Love, Grown Fervent In The Fertile Soil Of Our Species, Forever Married To Each Living Heart. A View Deserving Of The Title: Brotherhood Of Man. Each Star Is A Condensation Of Universe. We Are God’s Neurons, Only The Smallest Synapse Of Space Between Each Soul, Over Which We Send Our Communications, With Or Without Love’s Intention; The Membrane Of Our Common Memories Holding Us Together, The Muscles Of Our Motions Moving Us Forward Into The Arrangement Of Another Thought. Those Thoughts Are Carried By Rock Or Blade To Become The Stories From Which They Are Made. Where Were Your Eyes Before You Knew Them? In All Finer Motions, Each Feather Balances On Times Blade And Will Not Exclude The Heaviest Burden; Truth, Which Is At Once The Beginning And End Of All Things. From Each Twilight Comes A Dawn An Echo From The Rumblings Of The Earth, It Is The Sound Of Our Continuing Birth. In The Night’s Clearing Mist You Must Catch What Is Taught From Every Voice You Hear: It is The Creation Of All Your Tomorrows. Wake Gently Beyond The Reach Of Any Day, Expecting The Miracles That Are Coming. The Drumming Of Hearts That Will Join You In Your Song. There Is No Right Or Wrong; Only Difference Or Indifference In The Way All Notes Are Sung. Inspired By A Hunger For The Stars, That Shine From The Depths Of Each Others Eyes, We Grow A Newer Hope For All Lost Souls. In Our Dawning Hour And In The Rising Of Their Cries, Faith Waves Away All Curls Of Uncertainty: A Flutter, A Kiss, The Miss Or Near Miss, A Ring The Sirens Sing,That Endlessly Persists; Reminding Us Of Love: The Only Anchor To Which Sanity Insists. In The Living Soul Of All, Life Awakes, Confronts The Hour All Clocks Will Tick Again As We Awake To Make Another Day; Pray Over Breakfast, Offering Our Offspring The Smoke Of Every Fire, Until Winds Shift; And We, At Last, Retire. Each Budding Leaf, Thus Flowered Green, A Story. Brown And Crisp And Driven By The Wind, Perhaps Another. Around The Corner Next; We Name It Other. For What Intrigues Us Most; We Are The Cannon Of Our Standard, Hollow And Loud, The Road Behind Us Littered With What Once We Carried Proud. Our Life A History Of Differences, Each Cobble A Past Canning Of Knowns. Our Being, Thick With The Sounds Of All That Is Taught Through Voices Other Than Our Own. It Is In The First Step, The First Word Of Love, The First Of AnyThing, That We Are Found. Every Tree Is Not A Willow Nor Every Horse A Stallion Our Wish Is Only A Tavern Of Friends Greeted By Each Others Laughter. Arms like Our Own, Holding The Hope We Live With Every Hour That Every Drop Will Find Itself A Thirst. For It Is Only The Middle To Which All Men Arrive Each Of Their Movements From A Silence That Comes Before Life And To Which All Life Returns. So Wrap The Dark Around You Be Sorry For The Ones Not Here. And Sorrier Still For Those Who Are, Whose Voices Disappear. Lost Still, InThe Cradle Of Their Breech. We Can Only Teach What has been Taught From Every Sage “ Life Is A Cage, The Bars Of Which Are Made Of Your Beliefs.” To End All Griefs Know Thyself, In This, Will Be Revealed, All Things And You Will Know At Last Why The Caged Bird Sings.