Illuminating Love

You are the soul of the soul of the universe, and your name is Love.

-Rumi

One must bear in mind the odd angles that the rays of love have to take in order to reach a heart like mine. It is in the nature of love that we are here to love without condition. But the reality is that conditional love runs rampant, rearing its ugly head on those relationships we hold so dear. The effects of conditional love have become so distorted that the flesh takes flamboyant turns in the direction of that which lay behind us. It has become plain as day to me that most all of us compare today to tomorrow with that which happened yesterday.

In the deformity of loving with conditions, unconditional love is suppressed and the soul is left powerless. Therefore conditional love will not let us alone from suffering. But if you see the purity of love for what it is worth, you begin to understand that we owe our entire existence to unconditional love, because unconditional love is indeed the settled debt of the soul.  Once that debt is settled, suffering sees itself away from the heart.

My whole being has long applauded the idea of unconditional love. Though I haven’t always been one to practice unconditional love because of the conditions that I myself have bound to love. I have often obligated it to my own attachment with the expectations of what I believed love should be. It is in my opinion that this has always been wrong.

Rays Of Love

It is unfortunate that it took me this long to finally figure it all out.  But it is better to have learned late than to have not learned at all. The only way I came to understand this was by making it a priority to love myself without conditions.  It was tough to achieve, especially in the struggles of finally putting the ego to rest.  But it did happen through extended contemplation and in the due process of rewiring my heart with my soul. All of this has helped me to see what unconditional love truly is with a newfound intensity. You see unconditional love is as light as it is heavy, which holds steady with an all around balance.

It Is What It Is

Pure love—unconditional love—is the poetry of life.  A poet will come to understand that there is nothing of value without love and of course death—more on death down the road. For this post I wish to keep these words somewhat aligned with that of jubilation and joy.  See without love, there are no lessons.  Without love there is no darkness for the diamond in the rough to shine.

Today’s culture is quick to throw love off the cliffs of belief into the icy waters of doubt far below.  For not only are they scared, but they lack the patience to see love for what it’s truly worth.  Which I have come to find is both timeless and priceless.  There is no fear in love. Pure love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made pure in love. 

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

1 Corinthians 13:7

This world has become for the most part soul-less. Though there is an awakening of sorts happening amongst us, this too shall be discussed later on down the line.  The world nowadays with its “tinder” love and don’t care mentality emboldens a quicker, thrashing about to find a swift spark to bargain with someone that burns forever in the now.  But the miracle of love we seek takes time: time to find it, time to nurture it, and then time to bring it to life.  After all, lust is just a maze, in which love can’t find its way.

The modern ways in which we seek love have become conditioned to that of perpetual motion.  When in fact the purity of love is perpetuity in itself, carried by the notion of chivalry. There is no surprise in the fact that all of us wanting to love become confused and anxious, while dancing with the madness of conditional love, unable to stop the frantic jig, while spinning past the things we, in the deepest part of our souls cherish the most.  But I quit spinning a couple of years ago. Please bear in mind this does not mean that I am not spun. There’s that double negative again;)  

Though there is a way, a better way, which takes into account that of human error.  Our fears, our quirky behavior, our atrocities that shadow our eccentricities, they are very much held accountable.  And it just so happens, in the cycle of individuation, we are guaranteed to stumble upon something that points in the direction of said way… 

Roots Of Love

This path I have long walked has forever been riddled with the roots of love. It is just ahead through the canopy of this forest, a subtle sign from heaven above seeps through showing the way. A long lance of sunlight lights my longing for this world to see the truth of unconditional love. But first I must fully feel the truth of it myself for myself. I slow my steps, careful not to trip over my own two feet until I come to a stand still.  Though it is in no way that I am guaranteed not to fall—yet these words they are certain to spill.

A Sense Of Bliss

This stillness, the solemnity that broods in these woods, it sparks a sense of loneliness as it tells itself upon my spirit. But it is in spirit that I have found happiness in this solitude, and this is where I found bliss on the way through to You. The loneliness that has often simmered in the silence of my mind has given me something I thought I would never find, that being You. This is You moving through me, is it not?

My soul shivers more often that not with Your intent nowadays. While my hopes and dreams, they bend toward Your light. This light looks to promise growth in the warmth of Your love. It satisfies my desire to feel the love I need, the love of You. It is true, this light, Your warm-heartedness alone seems to speak directly to my spirit with hints of something that will always fill my heart with a sensibility that is forever unconditional. 

You are the soul of the soul of the universe, and your name is Love.

-Rumi

I feel a love within myself growing in the depths of redemption with You.  It is the unwavering love that we have all cherished from those who have perished upon Your Heaven above. It’s unconditional in every sense of Your word. It is pure, it is clean, it is angelic, and in Your nature it will forever be illuminating. And yes, I do have so much more to say, but let us save it for a rainy day. You see, it is true, rain—has always assumed growth.   

See you all soon.

—BeLove 

     

For Goodness’ Sake

I sink with the weight of a thousand unanswered prayers—the ice-cold pain of rejuvenation sets its hook in my soul.

I now know the questions of my dreams are ones that only God can answer.

Goodness is achieved not in a vacuum, but in the spreading of hope, always attended by love. 

Some sort of mirrored reality stares back at my reflection—hollow with eyes blue as the void.  I see the edge. My mind walks along some celestial cliff. Paralysis attacks my legs.  My stomach swims through an ocean of butterflies. I feel my heart pound with the rhythm of the crystal blue, white crested waves of persuasion churning below me, as they crash with winter’s effervescence.  

My imagination falls upon a field of metaphors and instead of picking these written wildflowers for you, I leave them scattered about for you to decide? Which are worth picking and which are worth leaving behind to bloom?

This life, this story, this blank piece of paper, these words, what significance should they all carry? What is it all for?  It has to be for something not wrong, but right—right? I am able to do what’s right, or should I stand wrong, maybe corrected?  What is a man to do in the fashion of goodness’ sake? 

As I fall from the cliffs of some astral dream, like hundreds of times before, the cement painted sky above comes to collide with the baptismal blue waters of the place I call home.  I sink with the weight of a thousand unanswered prayers—the ice-cold pain of rejuvenation sets its hook in my soul.  I wake up in a cold sweat.  I now know the questions of my dreams are ones that only God can answer.    

Creative Outpost

All through life, we are established and broken.  Then we are broken and rebuilt. Such is the American dream, in its current blood red state of self-destruction. Its obsession with the self-destructive particulars of the wounded man has grown to be comical. These words were first written in some creative outpost, so it’s time we get down to business.  If love were ever to become a revolution, I can’t think of better time to fan the flame. 

Somebody asked me the other day, if I thought I was some kind of warrior?  My response was, “Absolutely not. The moment I decorate myself as a warrior, is the moment the ego bears judgment on my being. One does not self proclaim themselves to be a warrior.  This is full of idolatry and pride.  The soul speaks chivalrous or it doesn’t.  It is as simple as is it sounds. I just want to do right by the boy and by God. Although love is his namesake, it is for goodness’ sake that I do this for Him.” She looked a bit lost in my answer but you could see the light shine in her eyes as it came to make sense.   

The Poet Barks

But at some point the poet will contradict himself, and as of now, I cannot think of a better time.   There is no time like the present to revolutionize my mind.  It is my very own idea of love.  It is but a jubilee, maybe a rendition of what love, or even who I used to be.  

Love is everywhere we look.

Man’s association with chivalry is pretty much dead.  The self-proclaimed warrior is associated with uselessness, because he does not respond voluntarily.  A warrior knows his purpose, it is rigorous and it takes a special state of mind that is eternally unbending.  To be a warrior is to be a seed of God’s purpose and to nurture His love wherever one goes with consistency.  I guess where I am going, isn’t this or that way, but it is His way.  Therein lies the difficulty of finding the seed of our purpose in a garden filled with God, faith, and wildflowers, and unfortunately, evil.

Rambled Structure

The goodness in the garden of good and evil wasn’t that far gone, so hope had stuck around, and because of this, goodness held a solid chance.  So with these words, please allow me this dance.  

Americans! With our outrageous ideas of love, saturated in the outpouring of domestic tragedy.  Who are we to think so highly of ourselves, after all of the wars, the wholesale revolutions, devastation and death camps? We’ve soaked the earth with the blood of both the innocent and the guilty. 

And still it spills forgiven from our hands?  In the cremation of love, evil lingers in the scent of ashen hate.  Hate but a hungry beast, fed through the vacuum of fear, racial indifference, and disbelief, and never in the sense of preserving goodness’ sake.  What do our personal troubles amount to?  Do we really suffer, compared to the others some consider of equal or lesser value? America’s democratic abundance does have its own peculiar complications. Does it not?

God’s Experiment

America is God’s experiment, such an experiment of dogmatic unity gone wild.  Many of the wounds created by the dogma of elder civilizations have long been healed with this newfound wound, which is a mystery in itself.  America didn’t like those who walked with this curious value that lacked pride.  It ostracized those who embodied the special interest of compassion.  America has lost its ability to understand the truth in the love of liberty and finding one’s self.  

The goodness of man was created in scarcity.  So what shall we anticipate from the false facilities of man with his plenitude?  This is why the world could always use a couple more writers written in as poets, to maybe point out the flaws of the hardened heart.

In the adolescence of America, love was built on the template of a myth. It’s why we fell head over heels in love with the idea of love.  Love is the thickness in our blood, rich with the platelets of self-desire. It was intricately embroidered with the fine print of bliss, but then our boys had to go across the pond and paint the hillsides of Europe with the blood of fascistic imperialistic belief.   

Women were then given an image to uphold and the wild soul of woman was slowly cut off from her genuine self.  The boys, they came back patriotic but broken men, suffered from the inevitable effects of evil, while death was seared into every sight they would see for the rest of their lives.  This was the beginning of the end in my opinion, love put on a mask of comfort and sensibility, covered by the veil of fear and pain. This was when pure love went into hibernation.  And sometimes a poet must carry the weighted stick that pokes the bear of love and lead it back into the wild where it belongs.

Love’s Revolution

In the early days, revolution promised mankind a permanent and interesting life in love with moral goodness. Revolution was the work inspired by love and compassion.  All classified aspects of the societal food chain were in a state of excitement led by the energy of delight in the poetic revolution of life.  Or as William James put it, human beings really lived when they lived at the top of their energies.  

My soul is fed by the energy of love, all souls are.  This is why we often feel so connected to those we hardly know.  It’s the energy of God’s delight, coursing through our veins. But what is there to be so sensible about love if, as I feel, I have waited thousands of years for God to send my soul fallen upon this earth?  Here I am supposed to capture a true and clear image worthy of love before I return, before my human life ended.  Being sensible with something as wild as love does absolutely nothing to mitigate the fear of “missing the boat.”  I believe anyone can see that.

Pure Love   

All of life has been spent in sin and virtue, in good and evil, in labor and struggle, in sickness and in health, in gifts, in sorrows, in achieving and regretting, in planning and hoping, and in love and fear.  

The light of love crashing upon the landscape of hatred.

Suppose a man were at once in his life to disappear into God for the space of a minute.  And suppose he had seen things, considered them, known them, made judgments about them and spoke of them, out of acting wise or not. Suppose he stumbled in and out of prayer, while seeing the smoke of doubt envelop his surroundings.  Yet he walked through clean to the upright side of obedience.  And in this obedience, he tasted the vague sweetness of God, where he found spiritual ease in prayer. 

In all these things, life is but a fabric sewn together with uncertainties.  But in the moment of a knick in time, the minute in which he felt deliverance to God, the fabric of life comes to be woven by the pure love of God. 

“No good thing does he withhold from those who walk uprightly.”

Psalm 84:17

Strength In Numbers

It is in this ecstasy of pure love that we arrive at the true fulfillment of the first commandment, loving God with our whole heart and mind, and all of our strength.  Therefore pure love is something that all should aspire to please God, and we ought to desire to inspire all with unconditional love. Not just for a minute, nor half an hour, nor a week, but forever.  It is in these souls that conspire to love, that peace will be proven to be force in this world.

We are the strength of the world, because we have become the tabernacles of God.  We are the ones who keep the universe from being destroyed. We are the little ones, we do not always know ourselves, but the world depends on us.  And though no one seems to realize it, we are the ones for whom it was all created and we shall inherit the land.  

We are the ones who renounce the world and throw away the meager possessions.  We alone appreciate the world for what its nature has given us. We understand joy, and those who are hateful and angry—joy will destroy.  We are the clean of heart, we feel God in our hearts, and our freedom has no limits.  We wash the world with God’s light.

Follow the path and beauty will be in everything you see.

So come, let us go into that body of His light.  Let us live in the cleanliness of His song.  Let us shed the labels of the world like clothing and enter barren into His wisdom.  For this is the prayer answered when He hears the cry: “Thy will be done.” And this is all that one seeks, when he tries his damndest to do something for goodness’ sake.

In Closing  

One may never know why he held the great unknown so close to his chest.  He often grasped at its searing celestial pain under intense circumstance.  Sometimes he would even reach for it and pretend to fill it with emptiness.  Then came the day when he filled it with what he thought was emptiness and instead it was God who filled his heart with joy. And as he felt a sensation like no other shiver up his spine, he knew it was God telling him it was time. 

To be continued…

—BeLove

*Author’s Note-

This is merely an excerpt from the book, call it practice if you will.

    

Written Confession

If I am to be a writer or a poet, I must always put on paper what I have become.

It may sound simple, but it is no easy task.

Hello.  First, let me thank you for stopping by.  Now where were we?  

I wrote the last post because I wanted to prove that we all have doubt.  Doubt in ourselves, doubt in God from time to time.  Hell, I have doubted God and myself most of my life. This doubt is similar to smoke, it will cloud your judgment of yourself, cloud your thoughts, cloud God’s purpose and His will for you.  

This smoke-filled doubt seems to be the absence of God.  Yet, God is still very much around.  He has just chosen to seem absent. But through the fog there is always a light and it burns within you, and it is God. You see he isn’t absent; those clouded thoughts are just the absence of faith.  I will now share with you why I believe this to be true.

Speak The Truth

My last post almost didn’t happen.  I was close to throwing in the towel when it came to writing again.  I almost put the pen down for good this time.  I was in a bad spot over the past week and a half.  It was all self-imposed from my obtrusive ego.  My head had swollen past the point of no return.  I wanted to quit writing out of pure defiance

Keep going.

The renewal date for this blog was coming up and I said to myself, just let it all go, just let it collapse like everything else in your life.  Sit back and “maybe” write the book and forget about the message while allowing mayhem to take the checkered flag from motivation.  My heart and soul were both vitally exhausted from moving constant in opposite directions of each other trying like hell to keep up with my mind.  

Don’t Doubt

And you know why? Because I doubted everything, and when I chose to do that I doubted Him.  I didn’t pray deeply for a business week worth of days, I didn’t get lost in the gardens of scripture for an extended duration.  I walked away towards the darkness of insolence from the path He had laid with the light of deliverance.  My soul had succumbed to the selfishness of pride.  

So come Monday morning, my day off, I awoke and I made it a point to speak loud and clear to the emptiness around me.  I spoke at length with Him about my dependence of Him, I begged for His mercy. And as I said before, when talking to myself, I have come to find that I am lot happier rather than listening to myself. 

So the day went it’s way and things were happy.  The kid and I played and created to his heart’s delight.  I was asked a million and one questions.  That plus one, was the best one yet.  “So Dad, did you know that God made me?” My soul stood silent and looked above and through the flesh, we winked and then I looked to him and all I could do was smile and reply, “Yes.”  

A creative mind is of a thriving kind.  All his idea. 

The following morning in the same empty room, I repeated my need for Him and His mercy, but this time I promised to start seeing the grace in all things as opposed to their shortcomings. The reason because spawned from my child’s question.  

Feeling Grace

This is something that we all do, instead of seeing the grace in something we look for the fault.  For instance, you have a child who has asked you the most mind-numbing but silly questions about farts and chickens all morning but then by the grace of God and who he really is, He reels you in to a place you have never been, a peace you’ve never felt.  That’s not just seeing, but feeling the grace of Him in all things.  

That night after the kid had gone to his mother’s house.  I was still going to quit, so I echoed my merciful dependence for Him, but this time I asked Him to give me the strength to see His will through, to allow me to see the grace of my surroundings.  I then picked up the bible and turned to Job.  Before I knew it the pen had found its way back into my hand. The words were written as follows the scripture.

He speaks in dreams, in visions of the night, when deep sleep falls on people as they lie in their beds.  

Job 33 : 15

And again the words they spilled from my flooded soul.  

Where I call home.


Allow God To Move Through You

These shades of mountain they glow beneath Your crescent moon, these stars they sprinkle my sight with a grace that shimmers of You.  And here You are moving through me with Your capricious wind, showing me what I should do.  Winter is in full force, and Your skies have been so grey, but every evening the inversion burns off and there You are so bright and beautiful.  This darkness and its significant other, that our flesh calls faith, is something we should forever see the light in.  So in the darkness of my doubt, let’s give them something to talk about.

Sometimes I feel that I should quit writing altogether, as some sort of gesture poised defiant.  In any case, I hope to stop thinking so much, because it has become impossible for me to stop writing altogether.  There is no way I can stop now, these words they help to heal, and it is possible that it is not only me.  Perhaps I will I write until death, and maybe even longer. Maybe I’ll write while in purgatory, except that I hope You and I can arrange some miraculous last inning heroics over my sins, and we shall leave purgatory in its own dugout, while you and I celebrate beneath fountains of champagne.  

And it seems to me that writing is not an obstacle in front of spiritual perfection in my own life, but sometimes it seems to have become conditional on which my perfection depends. Such is the mind of a poet.  If I am to be a writer or a poet, I must always put on paper what I have become. It may sound simple, but it is no easy task.  

To be a good person, and to remain myself, and to write about it:  to put myself down on paper, and now upon the world wide web, in such a situation, with simplicity and integrity, masking nothing, confusing no issue: this is difficult, because I am at times mixed up with illusion and attachment.  These too must be written, but how?  Without exaggeration, repetition, and useless emphasis.  That’s how.  No need for howling through the ears of anyone but You, who will always see the depth of my foolishness.  To be frank without boring You, it is kind of a crucifixion.  It requires so much honesty that is beyond my nature.  So let it be said, it must come from You.

Amen. 

The results of God moving through us are more or less a transparent holiness through the lens of Him. Creativity is the very act of God moving through man.  By living, praying and writing in the light of God, I have lost myself entirely by becoming public domain via Him.  

If you take anything away from this post, let it be as follows.  

We are all lost the majority of our lives, most of us have evolved to ignore our purpose and have become akin to just existing.  I was one of those people and I almost was again.  But believe me, we are here for the purpose of making the world a better place, via love, faith, and most of all hope through God.  

Within each and every one of us is a place called Calvary and the mind within it, has the ability to be and believe in whatever it wants to.  But the resource of abundant life has masked itself as debt and suffering, when true wealth has forever been funded by faith in God. 

This is why creativity is the most important natural resource that God has ever given us.  

And then they were whole—welcome back soul. 

-BeLove    

 

Rambled With Love

Love shoves me around this sanctuary of life; it recoils from within like a celestial gong as it reverberates within your soul.

Love brings us around. Love guides us drifted throughout the day.  Love, love, love, it lifts us up when feeling down.  Love walks with two steps upon the ground and four steps in, it sails with the wind.  It is love. It is solace.  But I do not care if it is solace.  I am no longer attached to solace.  I love God and that is why love will always carry me around wherever I choose to go.  I do not pay much attention to anything anymore if it is lacking in the realm of His love.  I haven’t the time for anything else but love.

And when the time clock of toil rings within my ears, it is like pulling teeth trying to make myself shift with the grind of life all because of love, this secret love, hidden love, opaque love, down in the depths of me and all around me, where I won’t talk about, where I don’t care to talk about.  And anyways, I don’t have the time let alone the energy to consider such trivial matters.

I only have time for the divinity of eternity, which is just another way of saying love, love, and more love.  Maybe a bit more common sense would snap me out of this, but love has always been seen as spotless through the mirror of clarity, and this I’ll always tell you.  I am not attached to it (one would hope) but it is love and it pierces with tenderness through the core of my being, where it is stamped soft upon the bottom of my heart.

Love shoves me around this sanctuary of life; it recoils from within like a celestial gong as it reverberates within your soul.  And I must be honest—love is the only thing that gives this heart of mine the gift that continues to tick.

Love radiates the way everything looks today.  The way it was up early this morning painting the dawn with shades of a bluebird.  These mountain peaks, they speak lovely in the silence of snowfall.  And through this patch of fog, or is it a cloud, or may it be smoke if You will, but it is love, and right now it is all I choose to see for You are here with me.

The boy, my child, he bounces brisk through the crackling snow, each of his footsteps symbolic for the fire sizzling within the comforts of the beast.  His thousandth question within the hour stumps me with a selfless attention and just like that the beast is gone.  He’s off seeking the answer somewhere buried in the depth of a childhood memory.  The boy he brings a balance to the beast, he keeps him bustling wild and on his toes.  I hear him sing a song under his breath, though hidden by the ruffling leaves, I begin to see, to hear, to sense the man he will grow to be within the love of You that now blooms in me.

This is the way things have come to be after prayer, and speaking of You while having a picnic with my child. Everything seems so mysterious yet simplified in Your Presence.  Your Son, Christ died for Love, not just in the collective sense, but within all senses, and even our very own sins, and this is the way that I shall write this, too. For once I feel whole because I am full with You.  You are the Love in everything I see as my own child has now taught me.

This is how “love” works, as I so often stood stoned by the choir of my thoughts, the less I worried about creating, the more possessed I became of Love.  There is a valuable lesson to be taught in the wealth of being poor in love.

Oh love, why can’t you leave me alone?  This is but a question built rhetorical in meaning: so please for the sake of Heaven don’t leave me alone.

At all times we must cooperate with love in His house, and His love sets a fast pace even in the first mile of the marathon, and if you don’t keep up, you may stumble and fall far behind.  And yet any speed is too slow for love—and no speed is too fast for you if only you would allow His love to lift you off your feet—after that you have to sail the “whole” way.  But it is only in our dual nature that we choose to come down from cloud nine and just walk instead, such is patience one would guess.

Allow me to be poor in the Light of You.  I’ve had a tough stretch of doubt, my thoughts twisting and turning, too much, as usual—such is the mind of a creative—always producing problems out of reality’s thinnest of air. This business sometimes burns me, and so I seek some proof.

Be exalted in your strength in the Lord; we will sing and praise your might.

Psalm 21 : 13

I am all dried up of desire and can only think of one thing—I shall stay put by this fire of You that burns so deep inside me.

These demons, my faults, my desire have all run dry, and yes my soul has softened like a wax the closer I am drawn to the candle of You.  We have come a long way turning the beast into creative energy, these shadows into support, my fear into fuel, my failures into kindling, my weakness into strength.  Let us not waste these agonies of life.  Let us use this pain to recycle all hearts with the Spirit of Love.

Amen.

-BeLove


A Letter For Heaven

Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.

1 Peter 5 : 8

Dear God—

I know not where I’m going. But it is my hope that wherever it is, You are there.  I have no idea what path You have laid for me, but I am confident that You have made it the way it should be built for me.

Of one thing I am sure is that pain will fall like rain, but upon my soul it will never stain.  And yes, I still do not fully know who I am, but I do feel You in the depths of me, and for that I am hopeful for what it is—I think might be left of the goodness in me.

For I have already found the treasure I sought when it was You I found deeper than just a thought.  And just because I talk about following your Will, doesn’t mean I always will.  So please allow us to speak more privately of that beneath your eternal Windmill.

But know this, it is your Glory—I will never allow anyone to steal.  And the fact that I feel you in my heart brings joy to all my days, and when those days are done, I’d be might to find a bit of a head start upon those Pearly Gates, because of your ways—I would rather not part.

So it is my desire to walk with You and You must know there is not a thing I will not do to prove the Essence of You, except maybe use a double negative or two while writing this letter to You.

But from this moment on, it is through this valley filled with the shadow of death and You—I will walk until my final breath.  So please allow me one last jest before I take my daily rest.


 

To say that I am built in your image

Is the reason why Love is my existence

For You—God—are Love.

Like you, Love is my identity,

Selfless of the righteous self.

For it is Love you wrote within my name

So it’s about damn time we fan it’s flame.

 —Ryan Love

 

P.S. I Love You


Golden Shore

And they told him, “We came to the land to which you sent us. It flows with milk and honey, and this is its fruit.

Numbers 13 : 27

We are all but specks of dust

fallen from what lay above

left astray to find that one

to play this game they call Love.

 

Created high upon an astral plane

we dive dual—a broken flame.

Our souls but puppets

strung with glorious Grace

upon His golden shore.

This life but a stage

separated by nothing more

than the thoughts that rattle around a cage.

 

But it is what drips within our mind

—a hint of gold

paints itself upon our soul.

A nectar so sweet

for what once was dead

finds a new thread.

 

In the darkest of places

we must give the most light

fed with faith and starved of fear.

Then comes a voice

all shall hear

shivered loud—ringing clear.

 

Love it falls like a drip

eternal from a golden mind

trickling through your heart

comes a faith so kind.

For fed is the soul

flowing with milk and honey

from an oil so sacred

it keeps the lamp of Heaven

forever trimmed

and always burning.

BeLove © 2018