Or so we are told

The light is whispering
So softly,
As soft as a kiss
From a leaf,
Fallen from a tree.

Colors are racing,
Faster than the blinding truth.
But as gentle as the gaze
From a mother to her child.

The scarred trail;
Is bleeding our knees and elbows.
But we follow the sound,
As faint as a fingerprint.
For we are blindfolded.
So tightly bound!
But loving branches catch
The loosing threads
And slowly begin to pull away the binding layers.

We are losing our chains,
how frightful! how dreadful!
Or so we are told.
Pushing through the layers of deceit
Layers of familiarity
Layers of old.

To find we can begin to breathe,
And the sounds are getting louder
The breaths the gushes of wind and cloud.

The trail, we learn, is flat.
No scars were ever in existence,
Only the fear that they were
Kept them alive.
Our bounds are loosened,
The branches pull more.
Tears are of joy,
Hands, no longer numb.

The wind turns into a hurricane,
Ripping and tearing at the ropes and chains
That we still now clutch to ourselves.
Because for some,
The light is so bright.
Too bright, and we are not worthy,
Or so we are told.

Everything is moving.
Time can no longer catch change
And mold it into understanding,
For everything is too fast or too slow.
Everything is different,
No longer what it was.

From this moment,
The momentum can only increase.
All movement turns to dance
And all sound to song.
For the spark is passed
from one fingertip to another,
and for the world to be afire
we must share our lights.

And let the beauty
Streak through the landscape
No longer listening to worries of old.
But only to leave a mark on this world.
A mark that says,


I’m here.