Sunday, December 11, 2011

There ain't no ash will burn

First, have a listen... or rather a feel...

Sifting through all the charred bits to find something burnable to kindle a new love finding embers still aflame from every past experience.  Self definition is so inaccurate perhaps it is more futile than hope.  Futility means nothing to me.  Importance, though....  There is significance in strangers.   Aletheia doesn't rest in every interaction.  Resting seldom, reaching though ...always.  Into and around, through and out of.  Toward. Always toward that truest state, she aims.

It's a heavy sigh breathed into crisp December air across the globe with wishes for bliss on any road.  It's a smile so wide that treks across space so grand it cuts through mountains and washes down rivers intact.  Dix doigts entrelac√©s √† travers l'espace et le temps.... unmitgated joy in the crumbling statue of memory. 

There is no such thing as a blank slate, and there ain't no ash will burn. So long as I breathe, I breathe fire.  So long as I wish, I wish for this.

Laissez-nous danser, toujours dans cet endroit.

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