There's More To Being

The mangled materials that make us are not defined by the components,

they are not defined by the ideas or the movements.

They are what they are,

pieces to create a greater whole.

They’re like the roots and the branches that form a great oak. 

No matter how twisted or broken,

no matter how bent, they create something beautiful.

They create something immortal,

standing throughout the beratement of the ancients

and surpassing the deafness of the world.

They are the broken bones and bruises we collect.

They are the sculptures made from cracked stones,

and the spoons carved from rotting wood.

The beauty in death 

and the beauty in life.

The intertwined world of love and grace.

The defiant souls that stand amongst the crowd 

but never become them. 

The loving minds that choose to become their hearts,

the holding of hands that invent a new form of language. 

We stand on the edge of oblivion upon the cliffs of creation,

we circumnavigate the earth and end up finding ourselves.

We are in the hole

and born out of the nights,

but we fly as baby ducks and earn our place amongst the stars as equals.

Sitting as honest, encouraging reminders that there is a way through,

that there is a way within 

and a way without.

You can pass through the vapor,

or reach inside yourself and find a heart still, somehow, beating.

And then you look up 

and see Heaven amongst the stars.

And the vastness of the universe finds itself in you 

and you will be consumed by the feeling.

 It’s not just circumstance.