Nestled between the covers
Are two stories unfolding,
Unraveling in the mystery of
How to detach from it.
The stories and memories,
Meshed together with an infinite tale.
A wordless story,
making its imprint on our flesh.
Bound, yet boundless
As birds that perch upon the edge of a wire.
Potential for motion,
A flight into a blanket of Love.
Shadows follow, for once cloaked
around our bare shoulders like a guide.
Mistaken as us, and comfortable
mistreating our views.
A grim reaper of our own Creation.
A once thoughtless prison, unshackled now
in warmth of our presence.
Recognizing a strand of
Familiarity, creating an endless
family from Kingdom to Kingdom.
We are not what we think,
And yet we think this into the now.
This creative moment of backwards
And forwards, as we sleep
A sweet lullaby
Of juxtaposition and paradox.
Mirrors are doorways
Into our Selves,
Onto a great pathway of
Questions that need no reply.
Voiceless songs and melodic silence,
Intertwining in the mix of
Magic and Absolute Truth.
