People's lives are like far away places
and all we can see are their faces
and faint traces and flashes
of their soul when it seeps through the cracks
because it crashes at it's outmost edges.

It's as though we nearly think
that their soul is what they do, but no
and neither is it who they claim to be, or show,
it is where they have been, and where they shall go.

We gasp for air,  we grasp it there
that others must breathe too.
Somehow storms still shock us with their might,
somehow even when i dont want to, breathing feels right
Somehow i know that i was breathed to life

somehow sparks that set afire,
though they consumed all i was,
became small sprouts of life to spire,
from the hardest dirt i'd ever seen,
when i was the worst man I had ever been
they stalked my essence in the ashes,
saw through all of the smudges, scratches,
held me up to light and saw,
an image etched, demanding awe,
there it was, but with blurred edges,
the image of My god implanted,
seed within my soul to bear,
the harshest winds, the hottest air.


So, as above, so below
even stars search for somewhere to go
In me, i see my friend,
In my friends I see my end,
in my end i see beginning, so long as the earth is spinning,
and when finally it stops,
when we've all forgotten clocks,
then in heaven as on earth,
shall we know that all has worth,
and remember then shall we,
all the roots, of life, the tree.