Breath of life

Passion seeps in again
Remembering what it feels
To sing, and Know it can be good

Oh for so long, we stood misunderstood
Our voices cleaving to flint walls
With drawings painted hidden
No heat for warmth, no fire for wood

We assaulted ourselves, yes us,
We threw it all in, with the lasts embers
Dust, how can we be glad or even mad
When the assailants still grin.

Blame, blameless, all are such thus
We have no consultation, you understand
There is no difference between pain, joy
love and even lust. It is all in direction, even solidified
Heading, the bride of the groom, His majesties
wedding.

To know such a thing, in such utter despair, cripples
the soles of the feet which are bare, change rapid
comes across, it strips us of sight, which we mistake
for need, not knowing we fight, Love won't diminish
Only in speed grow.

What they try to assault, they have no idea of how far
or where it will go.

Vessels break, as with it we take back hearts that are ours
Which for too long have been taken for granted, kissed beneath
devil's wreath, garlands, halos.

When you know the hearts depth, as far as we do
You can only carry on, in search of the truth.

Perhaps reconjoined with the dances of wind, which
Heats metal pipes, and with clatter still rings, as a soul
confined in factory setting, so old, the android life
leaves so little to behold, machine or man, animal
Lifespans, there are some moments even when we
are led back to Cosmic plan, where the pain subsides
upon all the sides, where the blocks and the walls
loosen their ties, where happiness and joy, can surely
spring in, in the dead of the winter, in the heat of the spring.

An artist will wait, through every such motion, a
man will carry on, through steadfast devotion, with
the highest spirit, which lingers in air, one overhears secrets
whispered in ears, to understand the strength of fallen man
To help with direction, to build upon sand.

Hope is not confined to a word, when in moments of splendor
We look at the World.

Faith is not even a question, when we still are here by divine
appointed selection, and of love, you have heard it to grow,
to the outermost portions of space and abode, until it is to all to know
encompass and evade insurrection building a mixture for divine call
Stark attention, to the looking glass World, a mirror too modest
A whimsical fall, breath back in life, when death steals from us all.

Christopher Baird 2012 ©