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Grief
is so often
a harbinger
of repair
if only t'would be welcomed as such!

Aye,
t'is but a matter
of sheer Courage:
of Willpower;
to consciously transmute Grief as such!
My gods are small.
They exist in the space between the lips
Of two souls.
They nourish off the smiles,
Smiling thoughts,
Smiling though times are sandpaper.
My gods are sadness as beauty.
My gods do not ask,
Do not speak.
Do not merely excist as gods
Rather morals,
Rather miracles.
Rather potential that nests between the eyelashes of a child.
Rather existing as we do.
My gods are not really gods,
But lakes that hide behind your lids
When you cannot stand to look to the sea.
My gods are small.
My gods
Are never quite large enough
For another's world.
But always small enough to be seen when other gods are not.
Find a worthy goal,
set your sights on it,
and work every day
on drawing nearer to it,
even if just baby steps at a time;
for,
as it has been so well said
by Confucious among countless others:

'tis by many small steps
rather than by few great bounds
that greatness can be achieved.
We are a wall of lost children.
Tiny fingers fixing
the broken pieces
Of humanities innocence
mending her compassion,
sewing the stiches of
goodwill back into
her being.
Until goodness can be seen.
Till the stars look down
flaring with pride
to see our brighter side.
Children of the cosmos
fulfilling our purpose.
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