بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ
sometimes when the seasons change, not so suddenly but slowly as winter fades, vital colors spring again to life, along with reminder for this path of mine.
my Gift: still now across the seas, bit by bit brings herself to focus, in hopes we might fulfill at least part of need, as I recall what must be given, no matter what is received. she is a flower, perhaps I am the vine, struggling upward to find with her a perfect perch, with which she basks in sunshine, and so the meaning of affection is understood.
my Muse: ever the one He brings, without forecast or prediction, at times a lonely day's gentle rain, or at others, the chocolate icing for a cake yet still in the oven baking. perhaps in this, I am candle to her flame, my purpose to be melted, and help ensure her light is immortal made.
...and my self: of existence, I chose not this vivisection, not of flesh but of soul that He tries with test of my mettle, my conviction, one who must live and breathe while parted from his essential organ,..but that's alright, in whomever He permits a beacon to shine, I've no argument in this, simply is my forward going, with ratios unfixed, at times pieces less or pieces more, just one Day being whole again, my every atom's wish.
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