Candles

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What happens when a candle goes out?
Was it blown,
snuffed, simply
forgotten?
Did anyone see the guttering,
stuttering in flame?
Who’s to blame when a blaze,
extinguished (perhaps
in anguish),
disappears?

Couldn’t you hear the loneliness
dancing in outline upon your wall?
Cries that fall in silent wails,
heard askance…

Or were you busy
just then?

Did the light ever shine
if all are blind?
Tree to forest; the poorest eyesight
lives in mirrors warped and twisted…

we all missed it

Shine On!

If nothing we do matters,
then all that matters is what we do.

-Angel

This could be heaven for everyone…

Stop thinking in big, defeatist pictures, and start thinking in kibbles, bits and pieces. Not what can we do. What can I do?

What can you do?

We can build heaven together, but it takes all of us, acting individually, to act together. No one can do it but us. Baby steps. Smiles here, caring touches there. That waitress that keeps dropping stuff? Don’t tip less; tip even more than you normally would. Life’s not about being served. It’s about serving. About being of service to the strangers around us, in the interests of abolishing the term forever. About acting in ways that surprise, that take expectations and dash them to pieces. That transcend the status quo in order to establish a new one. That raise the bar, set a higher standard, that turn human nature on its head and give the human spirit a fighting chance at survival.

It’s not about retribution; it’s not about getting our own out of a situation. It’s about taking what should be our own, and cutting ties with it, giving it away, giving it up. Leggo your ego. Let. It. Go.

Put your self down and step away slowly.

You

Place your hand on my shoulder
and the world, however cold or
gray, fades away, and I am me,
and I alone can see the future. It’s
in your eyes, your smile, your way
of waiting patiently while I try to find
the key to silence.

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Speak and music plays, symphonies of
days gone by, and I can fly, or at least
try. Wingless in the sky of your emotion;
all is motion, all is stillness, the shrillness
of insistent existence doused, put out,
destroyed in the void between two hearts,
playing a part in the pantomime of sharing. And

while the blaring of the crowd echoes in the
background, this equalizer we’ve found
slowly puts the volume down and I
can hear the sound of myself, filtered
through your self and reflected onto mine.