Approach, dear dreamer, if you dare,
But know my skies are thin for air.
My steps are stitched in woven flame,
My name, too sharp for lips of shame.

You came with hands of dust and thread,
A crown of noise upon your head.
No sword, no gift, no golden key,
Yet thought to tame a storm like me.

Did Daedalus forget to warn his son?
Even Icarus soared closer than you’ve done.
You chase the sun but dread the cold,
A heart too timid, a hand too old.

I dance where only giants tread,
I feast where lesser men have fled.
I wear the stars, I breathe the skies,
I kiss the sun where eagles rise.

So take this truth I lay in rhyme:
A throne too high is not a crime.
It is a gift for those who soar
Not for the ones who beg at doors.

[Narrator:]
A bird once flew with joy, chasing the horizon.
But the sky grew heavy, and his wings grew tired.
One evening, he fell by the quiet sea.
A young girl found him, her hands full of dreams.

She knelt by his side and asked:

[The Girl:]
I found you trembling near the dreaming tide,
Your feathers torn as though the heavens cried.
Tell me, worn traveler, where have you flown?
What hunger drove you past the worlds you’ve known?

[The Bird:]
I chased the rim where fire and heavens kiss,
A line of gold no hand can ever miss.
I sang to suns, I danced where eagles dared,
I broke my heart on dreams that never cared.

I rose, I fell, I rose again and bled,
Until the winds unwove the life I led.
The sky, sweet child, is vast, but it forgets;
It makes no grave for those it once begets.

The sky is not a temple, but a field of knives.
The stars you seek will teach you how hope dies.
To fly is to wager all you are and own,
And to be forgotten even by the stone.

Freedom is a flame that eats its own,
A summit where the winds strip flesh from bone.
Dreams build their monuments from broken wings;
Songs leave behind the silence that they bring.

[The Girl:]
I hear the hollow echo in your song,
The mourning stitched between the bright and wrong.
Your wings are altars where the old prayers bled;
Your eyes, a ledger of the tears you’ve shed.

Yet if this is the price that freedom claims,
If every flight must carve itself in flames,
Then I will pay with all I have and more.
Better to burn than to be chained ashore.

[The Bird:]
Bold soul, you walk the edge where light falls blind;
You court the storm that cracks the clearest mind.
I too once roared against the tethered clay,
Believing wings could tear the night away.

But listen:
Not every fall redeems the climb.
Not every song survives the mouth of time.
To dream is to accept both birth and grave,
To build, to lose, to give what none can save.

[The Girl:]
Still would I leap, though cliffs erase my name;
Still would I sing, though silence be my claim.
Let it be said: she lived, and she was free
And when the end came, she did not flee.

If dreams devour, let them feast on me whole;
If stars betray, still shall I bless my soul.
Better to vanish in a sky of flame,
Than bear a life untouched by any name.

[The Bird:]
Then fly, fierce child, into the ruthless blue;
Let winds unmake you, they will make you true.
The sky is cruel but it remembers one:
The heart that dares to burn brighter than the sun.

From bristly foliage
you fell
complete, polished wood, gleaming mahogany,
as perfect
as a violin newly
born of the treetops,
that falling
offers its sealed-in gifts,
the hidden sweetness
that grew in secret
amid birds and leaves,
a model of form,
kin to wood and flour,
an oval instrument
that holds within it
intact delight, an edible rose.
In the heights you abandoned
the sea-urchin burr
that parted its spines
in the light of the chestnut tree;
through that slit
you glimpsed the world,
birds
bursting with syllables,
starry
dew
below,
the heads of boys
and girls,
grasses stirring restlessly,
smoke rising, rising.
You made your decision,
chestnut, and leaped to earth,
burnished and ready,
firm and smooth
as the small *******
of the islands of America.
You fell,
you struck
the ground,
but
nothing happened,
the grass
still stirred, the old
chestnut sighed with the mouths
of a forest of trees,
a red leaf of autumn fell,
resolutely, the hours marched on
across the earth.
Because you are
only
a seed,
chestnut tree, autumn, earth,
water, heights, silence
prepared the germ,
the floury density,
the maternal eyelids
that buried will again
open toward the heights
the simple majesty of foliage,
the dark damp plan
of new roots,
the ancient but new dimensions
of another chestnut tree in the earth.

On the mountain
I am the last kissed goodbye
by the sun

My divine love, so unconditional and pure,

A truth eternal, steady and sure.

There’s no need to change, to hide or pretend—

You are enough; there’s no need to bend.

I know fear whispers softly, its shadow unfurls,

It’s casting doubt in love’s precious pearls.

The mind replays what the heart has known,

A cycle of lessons, seeds once sown.

You cling to her like I clung to the vampire,

A fleeting comfort, an ember’s fire.

Seeking to fill what feels like lack,

So afraid of solitude’s cold; the fear keeps pulling you back.

I know this place, this hesitant ache,

The ego’s hunger, the heart’s mistake.

It whispers softly, “You’ll never be enough,”

So we have always settled for fleeting, afraid of love’s rough.

But love’s greatest test is not in the fight—

It’s in the courage to step into the light.

The toxic was “easy”, familiar, and clear.

Patterns repeated, year after year,

Familiar ghosts, always so near.

Comfort in chaos, masking the fear.


We choose the “easy”, the well-known pain,

Hoping for joy, but finding only strain.

We cling to the past, though we yearn for change,

Fearing the unknown, reluctant to range.

The familiar wounds, though deep, are safe;

So we self-sabotage love, fearing it’ll break.


Our hearts know better, yet our minds rebel,

Telling stories where only darkness dwells.

But growth begins where comfort ends—

In the unknown, where true love mends.

We search for solace in what we’ve known,

Afraid to leave what we’ve outgrown.

Though our hearts long for something more,

We continue to hesitate, fearing what’s in store.


The past’s grip is a haunting guide,

Whispering doubts that we try to hide.
But love’s power is found when we finally let go,

When we dare to trust and let ourselves grow.

It will be a whole new world, with you by my side,

Where love flows freely, no secrets to hide.

Like Aladdin and Jasmine, hearts bound in grace,

Their souls connected in an enchanted space.

She saw the goodness, the strength in his eyes,

Beyond his station, beyond the disguise.

He saw her spirit, fierce and untamed,

Not just a princess, but a woman unchained.

On a magic carpet, their worlds intertwined,

No walls to divide, no hearts left behind.

So rise, my phoenix, from the ashes of pain,

Burning away what no longer remains.

The chains of old stories, the doubts that bind,

Are fuel for your rebirth, and with peace you’ll find

Mindful whispers and tender care;

Self-love blooms in the open air.


You are worthy—right now, as you are—

A radiant soul, your own guiding star.
Our union can heal what solitude hides,

Opening spaces where real love resides.

No need to change, just let love flow,

For in this moment, you already glow.


Together we learn, and together we will rise,

Healing the wounds and claiming the prize.

Two phoenixes reborn from love’s holy fire,

Awakening truths and lifting us higher.

Do not stand
          By my grave, and weep.
     I am not there,
          I do not sleep—
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
     Do not stand
          By my grave, and cry—
     I am not there,
          I did not die.
— Clare Harner, The Gypsy, December 1934