Only the wisest men know:
That which is not consistent with love
Is worth no more than ashes and dust.

Rise from the scope of this dreamscape
Like a phoenix full of fire and ire and lust
Spawned of thin air, reigned in
By the wind at its tail, holding it aloft.

Learn to see the secret truth behind the sky:
Where the birds will go to be safe
In the calm of the storm, in the eye.

Learn to sing alone now
With your own voice against the odds
Of hatred and apathy and sorrow
That they will stack against you.

There is sadness, always to be regretted,
Secret hurts that you will never mend,
That to touch upon is to risk
Breaking down something core inside.

There are moments that your memory
Has permanently engraved across your eyes.
Moments that the sun and the moon
Will never let you forget or abandon or erase.

Moments when the tides find it wise to shift
From stillness to a rage of frothy explosions
And swelling waves in the quick blink of an eye.

Neither your hips nor your lips
Nor your getaway tricks
Make you any safer than the rest of us.

I have seen you trip and fall and brush it off
I have seen you try to sever the ties that bind you
To others out of fear and intimidation.

To ease the ache is a walk through the fires
Of Gods and stars and volcanic ash.
To break the pain of the cycle is to recognize:

That which is not consistent with love
Is worth no more than ashes and dust.