By Candlelight

I know what makes us more
or less
Beautiful.
I know that you hold
a smile,
even in the dead
of night.

And our heroes
are singing
tonight,
as we risk
the entirety
of ourselves.


We struggle to hold the candle's flame. They whispered in my ears, do not falter. You carry the histories and memories of generations. I struggle to hold the wax-encased wick- perpendicular to the ground. So the wax won't spill out. So it won't drip down its sides, leaving luke-warm trails, across fingers, solidifying on skin, dripping to the ground.

It is present,
sting of heat across
our skin.
But some days
it reminds me of
all the distant memories
of places I've never been.


I find strength in myself. I find that we all hold it, within.
I choose, and you choose. We all choose to find this, find that, find us.
I hope some day you will find us in the depths of our imaginations, and walk with us for a while. Our paths are different, our minds are different. Take a moment and feel what we feel, take a moment and become a little bit of who we are. We pace and we ponder and we paint pictures of what life should be, or should have been, or should never be. We are you and you are us and me.


















Again I find myself in a field of golden-brown dreams. The words repeat. And yet the gestures hold something. You are more than your defeat. I reach my hands to cup the water, hold this liquid to your parched lips. We taste it. We waste it. We drink, we are refreshed, we drink again. We share in this and laugh with that. in mind.

As though we knew
to save this.

Where will we Go

I have found, upon venturing the experience, a new perception of You.

We have wandered through fields in our dreams. The wheat brushed against our thighs . We skipped and ran. Footfalls on endless seas of golden stalks, our own private celebration. Shades of lion. Whisps of gray. The sky. The land. The dirt turned to mud as the solstice comes, and quickly goes. Two worlds emerge, two hands submerged under the cover of our ocean of dreams. Sometimes I dance. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes it seems like I could fly. In the field, the sum of spring, summer, winter, fall. Fall down in the shades and bathe in tubs of beauty. We come here to never wish precious moments of life away. Always want to stay, safe in the embraces of earthen aroma. Hint of heart, scent of the mark. The mark on the hand that embraces the world, swallows experiences whole. Desperately dragging the depths of existence from the depths of the soul. To savor. To regret. To share and shave away the darker parts of our walled off hearts. We open. Extrapolate. Symbolically appropriate. The steps in the dark that reached the ears of children hoping for praise. Dreams filled with gardens. Trees filled with birds. Their song drifts to us, familiar yet unheard. Our field. My venue. Our stage. I stand and produce sound. Celebrated gifts and dandellion whips. Streams and flows. The mind keeps working and waiting and laughing. They laughed at your simplicity. Folds of the scarf gripped so tightly around necks to hold in the warmth. To hide until the skin is open to the field in which we lay. Lay down your head. What do you dream of when you have a world of everything?

पास
Mandy