Her Truth

One sunny Friday in the park, drowning in beauty.
There comes the gold heart of compassion, reflecting on all elements, all without doubt. For them all I change shapes and meaning, but she knows me to the core, she has scanned me through the bone.
For them all I bite my tongue, every day, every night. But she is wisely requesting my silence now and forever in her light.
She speaks of truths simple yet undeniable. That there is life without movement, but not creation; No creation without movement. That there are wounds without bleeding, but all the more fatal. That she will live to view my eclipse, while I shall not witness hers.
That she is the water of the fields. When we know, we float and dive in her; there is safety undisturbed and silence, as in mother’s womb.
And when we fail, we are frail. We wish for so many wrongs to make right, but she knows the life of action is one breath. The life of action is one breath.