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Light is dying, my spark squashed, gasping for one last crackle
Made into an effigy of a loser by harsh hands, adorned with knives
That slap me in to submission
And cut off all the residual fat of my compassion
Till what is left of me is not nature
But a bundle of gray neuroses
And an acidic bitterness that dissolves joy
Words are my sanctuary
Words that convey affection
That, like magic, move in my ears and brain
It’s a game of roulette if electricity’s commute through the body is cruel or kind
I am constantly looking for another heart to mimic the light of my own, divine echolocation
I like compassion that isn’t thoughtlessly advertised
Compassion that isn’t just a slogan to afford faceless corporate monoliths an air of humanity, who all year, all around the world, wage war on human brotherhood and love
True compassionate acts are currency of a gift economy which creates a multiplier effect for optimal outcomes
The fine tuned science of solidarity
One day I will talk of depression in the past tense
And be an ocean of strength and prominent in the universe
Megan Sherman May 22
These things I feel: that love is pure
One’s Heart the muscle of prayer
Love’s chambers behind Heaven’s door
Benevolent spirit dwells in there

These things I see: the dancing wilds
Faeries with bells and feathers on
A sanctuary for the inner child
Down valleys, in rivers run

These things I hear: the baby birds
Whose music never dies
Who sing rather than do the verbs
Voice deeper than the skies

These things I smell: freedom’s air
Liberty for all
Peace, the mistress who end despair
And dissolve oppression’s wall

These things I taste: the kiss of sun
Passionate fire of celestial disc
Through which the cosmic fires run
For which Icarus pledged risk

These things I know: that life is love
That nature is a hymn
Sung to flights of angels
Those glorious cherubim
Megan Sherman Mar 20
Thy tears, beget of my mistake, fall down
In mutual despair destined to drown
No gesture suffice to make apology
I the lost, beleaguered devotee
Perspective of thy pain makes me lament
The hour of thy summer duly spent
I wish thee golden aura, sent to heal
In Love pure and deep as ocean hear my appeal

When your sky collapse with thunderbolts
That strike upon thy heart and give it welts
I pray for thy redemption by Heaven's hand
Saving thee from oppressed shore and sand
The hour of thy winter transient
Seasonal the bloom of my lament
For times grand as gold fires yet to receive
In Love, thy sullied Soul's finest reprieve
It happens often that Love dies
The Heart's sparks quenched one by one
Inaugurating a bleaker sky
Than that which ruled when Love begun

Experience suppresses the Heart's song
And hides the passionate impulse
But to deny Love remiss, path of wrong
Which only ignorant spirits chase

A human tragedy that Love obscure
And that we dwell in hate and war
Bereft of divine peace

Let minds conceive of Love's perfection
And bow to it in genuflection
The eternal wisdom apace
I've scarcely felt a Love so pure

Or rare as crystal ocean

For he irresistible to adore

Puts my heart in infinite motion

My passion bleeds from my desire

Overwhelms and possesses me

Till I can do nothing but admire

His shining spirit, raw and free

What fine art could frame thy face

And capture thy immortal grace

Soul carved from god's gold

You, my friend, are an image of Divinity

I, in awe of your magnanimity

A blistering spirit to behold
In the carnival of time, worlds are abloom

Stars blaze on in song in the cosmic jamboree

A revelry to raise the spirit, stoke the soul

And fill the heart with sparks and glee
The ether not yet harnessed to form

By irrepressible thought, the mind's art

Conceptions as pure as the Lord's Heart

Dreamt by the free, wandering intellect

The force of dreams moulds reality

Life filtered through the prism of mind

Borne aloft to destiny refined

By imagination powerful in awesome totality
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