بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

 like a grape that became a raisin, so this life has felt to me, always drying out, withering, surrounded by desert while dreaming of oceans and springs to drink from. my Gift is my Gift, barriers aplenty exist, like saltwater with fresh, though peace through them all i try to retain, from my self something decent to give. in her presence i'm more human than machine or self-thought menace, more relieved and released, though she may not see an inch past my surface, i wouldn't trade away my present or my destiny, even for all the world or the universe and everything within, content with what He gave and the End i'm long chasing, a Pinnacle of Peaks that runs circles around anything mortals might fathom or scheme, it's heavenly in nature but raised to the power of perfection, with His pleasure imbued like a lamp is endowed with a multitude of suns, raising its luminescence far beyond anything even remotely measurable, for the seeker an infinite enlightenment. far too often this dunya is my cage, my prison, a restraint on my vision, cloudy to hope, trying to contain me within its prism, but some moments come, like raindrops on cloudless days, where it's easy as pie to reach out with a fork or a knife, and slice out meaning from things thought died, becoming a CPR apparatus for the self and beloved, giving the beating back their life. some time far off, some place deep inside, the Moon, the Mirror, wherein resides a muse to uplift what's too long been weighted, a warmth to vivify the parts of me grown cold, abated, so i might be able and return the favor, reflect back to her the light we've longed to savor, a Rose immortal, growing in a bed of this life's toil and danger.

let breath come slowly, at ease, the pathway is not built with haste or friction, but in patience and contently being, wherever the moment alights, remember Him, for if ever we need refuge, He is all that there is.