I’m beginning to see how it is
That the sea, so full to its brim,
So overflowing with creatures,
The very blossom of life, can feel
Blank, like the pallet of stars
Our God saw fit to place
Where we can never hope to reach.
Inside we hold a universe untold,
The light, hidden as unlit torches,
The bearers our hearts, our brothers
And sisters the sparks to catch
Our very souls on fire.
How does an Ocean wash itself clean?
The water flows with the Moon,
That mirror blush from a luminous star,
And clashes against hard creation.
Together, thus does earth turn to lemon sand
And the ocean spray become cerulean tears.
Now, how does the soul burn away sin?
Set out a heart, so that it may too
Someday become as forgiving
As the delicate cinders that become
The ashes, taken by a wind
To become the soot for another;
In that we see how our brothers
And sisters are the very soil
In which our own timbers take root.
Still, the Sea is not always against the shore,
As the heart is not always open
To the gentle embers of others.
In that sense, one can see how
Being in an endless ocean can seem
Blank.
The depths await for cleansing,
A steady touch from mother Gaia
To let them know it’s okay to cry.
My soul stands and waits
On an edge, the last glass step
Towards the fiery stars that remain
Just beyond my reach.
That little light from your lampshade 