The pelting gems of superior melt silence abruptly,
Yet also with such tenderness I could have sworn it was my own heartbeat.
Voices poke through the dark sheet of stillness,
Pausing only for the acceptance of my own presence,
They remind me what I already know.
It’s as if I can see my life in fast forward,
But what is up is also down with round bits escaping the abyss,
Hesitating only to look back in soft remembrance,
Even the pain was right. Especially the pain was life.
The rise in light lifting up what already felt right,
What already felt home,
What already felt bold.
I am not sorry for your confusion,
I am sorry you do not know yourself,
And care more about your interpretation of me.
Ah, what a relief! I no longer hold you above me.
Your “simple” suggestions, as you like to call them, fall around me,
They drift softly to the ground and melt before my feet,
My aura illuminates the hostile home in which you hoped I’d freeze.
All was supposed:
That which cared for,
That which loved,
That which only was doing the best for.
Now I feel the ice crackling under my weight as I march into the night,
Staring at the wild wind whipping rouge,
The bright-eyed glimmer stealing full moon powers,
Gripping mittens release their hold,
Venturing further into the mystic,
Encountering an awe of both delight & peace.
The sticking snow reveals paths taken,
Of light & dark,
Love & pain,
Young & old.
But “simply” suggesting I know nothing shows the nothing you so simply desire,
For never have you sought to understand anything but what you hoped to find.