While all writing is inspired the gift is in that which dwells with the receiver |
Their tears are the dew that paints our dreams. It glistens in the treetops and floats in the clouds. It waters the leaf waiting to be born And gives life to the thirsty pilgrim at a forest pool. We are not apart. We are the cricket who sings in the spring, Our eyes the hawk who sails the winds. We are the mirror where our images blend, And the lines become blurred because once, Our souls danced as one. We are forgiveness that remembers the dance - A melody so pure it floats on the wind And becomes the moonbeam that lights our path On the darkest of nights. We cannot stand apart. We are tethered by a golden thread That wraps us in a cradle when we are lost And becomes the gossamer wings that lift us When we are ready to soar. We are the mighty oak, with strength of giants, And vistas as pure as the mountains at their peaks. We are blessed by the winds - Our song is strong, our footsteps gentle. We are the earth that will be fed by the dew of dreams, To one day grow a mighty forest, sure and strong, And our legacy will be wisdom for the journey. We are one with all. We are eagles who soar over canyons We thought we could never cross. We choose love because it washes us, and in that moment - Our souls touch the divine, and we are freed. |