Heave,
The weight of our existence,
Pushes us to the very front,
Tales, Woven into tapestries,
line the walls.
In our eagerness to please,
We detonate our own fall.
A tale as old as sin,
Birthing
the seeds of transformation.
The skies clear,
unfolding our destination.
But recognition,
Is our down fall.
The tide, that pulls us away,
As we crash upon it shores.
The repetition,
that seeks to weaken
and shake us, to our very core.
We crave to be seen,
Never appreciating
that full sight, comes from within.
The ability to feel, to remain opened,
To heal.
To heal, we must feel.
