Only beauty grows from this visceral ache,
like a seed pushing up through the earth of your chest
When a heart takes root into the abyss of the self, then
Multihued flowers can lift high in the welkin
The pain of the water that courses through shadows
Splits strata of rock, to find stark verdant meadows
Love for grief, like wind raises the flame
Stealing air from our lungs, ‘till we’re steady again
As each thread is woven to build a fine fabric
If one is missed, ‘tis nothing so tragic
But if after the cloth is finished, then worn
by one thread removed, into two it is torn
There’s as much hurt in fortune as wisdom in plight
Embrace both, for your darkness is seamless with light.
Beauty.
Ninight.
There’s as much hurt in fortune as wisdom in plight
Embrace both, for your darkness is seamless with light.
perfect