The Gift

We are the en-souled

Creatures rising in the dark

Reaching out, alone

 

We did not choose, life

To come to be, we awoke

A poor creation

 

Birth is concrescence

A continuum of fear

In the heat of love

 

The wheel of life turns

Not one of us asked for it

The imposition

 

Witness the divine

The sacred obligation

We tiny creatures

 

The week and condemned

A crown of fire on our heads

Burning hail and coal

 

My aching spirit

Lift me to another world

Weaving threads, and dreams

 

The wheel turns again

I could lift it like Atlas

As Hercules did

 

Hand me the lever

Archimedes will move it

The stars shift again

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