A warrior never gives up hope.
A warrior chooses to forget
What stands in the way of the good,
And never forgets to check with themselves
That their intentions are pure.
A warrior spends a lifetime seeking truth,
And is not easily swayed
By a world of competing voices.
A warrior knows the madness is temporary,
And that sanity is temporary too,
As long as we depend up on others
To define what madness and sanity are.
A warrior never gives up hope.
A warrior can see in the dark,
But is always fighting for the light.
A warrior does not just want to survive,
But for us all to find meaning in survival.
A warrior stays true to the path
No matter how many people
Try to obscure it, divert it, destroy it.
A warrior knows that to give up hope
Is to see a world beyond salvation,
A world that has already died.
A warrior lays down their arms
When it is time to depart,
But uses every last breath
To deepen the experience of life,
And fight for the wounded, the weakened,
For the injustices that abound,
Knowing they are fighting for us all.
And when it seems like every last warrior
Has fallen into the arms of history,
The warriors will appear, and rise
And say, never again, will we succumb
To a world that is not striving.
Please don’t ask me
who I am,
but who I am today.
Do not ask me
where I come from;
allow me instead
to describe the lush roots
that mold my veins
and allow my breath
Do not take me
on a journey of
where we have been,
but look into my eyes,
as I will yours,
so that we may find
our love refracted
a thousand layers deep
in all the directions.
There is a door;
leave your self there,
everything the years
have done to form you,
all that you have absorbed
and leaked onto
rocky and arid lands
that have forgotten
how to hold you,
and enter. Come in.
Take flight to everything
that is possible,
and taste the love
that could not erase
what is always meant to stay.
Imagine you are nothing but light;
the heavy matter of your body’s
time here has lifted, and gone.
Your stories, which cement you
to yourself, without the bones
and blood, the cells and caves
of your joints that harbour them,
still hover close, as memories do,
but they can no longer prevent you
from altering the course of your life.
Fill yourself in, with the agility
of your mind, the strength of your heart.
Mold yourself softly; you are clay,
capable of any shape and colour.
Find all the sinuous shapes that stun
your senses and let you breathe.
Fill every part of you with the seeds
of your desired tomorrows.
See everything. Know your options.
Let the words you read be the ones
that fly on the wings of angels
so they can roam into every lit place,
inside you, and light the places of darkness.
Choose sounds that makes you sing
and people who raise you to rapture,
and filter, always, for your own happiness.
Make friends with every feeling,
so you know which ones to feed,
and which to send on their journey home.
Allow yourself to be that precise,
illuminated moment in time and space
that shines alone, but never alone,
and makes the light that lights the world.
Every possible colour existing
in the span of seven bands,
and you can never see where
one ends, and the next begins,
and you know you will never
bring your fingers to touch
the fine, silken luminescence,
yet all of it is there, somewhere
in the world, in every moment,
and there is always the dream
of getting close enough to see
what happens in the lush spaces
between yellow and orange,
indigo and violet, what worlds
will open up to us as soon as
we are ready to pass not over
the brilliant rainbow, but through,
not on the way to our destination,
but to face what we never knew.