Cosmic tides hammer the stellar atmospheric shore,
with there cannons firing arcs of illumination.
They Flick and wander
along the experienced and travelled ground.
Which absorbs the life breathed into it, whilst
it gently nods back, to the sphere of light.
That ebb and flow of coddling, comforting energy
caresses the most vulnerable centre of our soul,
Our spirit is granted the tepid heat it demands, so it can bathe and dance in joyous realisation.
A self awareness is reached, a moment of truly unexpected clarity.
We are mere scenery in a infinite story of euphoria.
Our roles are to gain all we can,
But.
Materials are even smaller scenery, just props that interchange between acts and scenes.
Memories and experience are the true treasure of mankind.
Platinum.
Gold.
Silver.
Bronze.
All the things we have valued over our minds because we fear the loss of the glass house, we have built around ourselves.
The fear of the  gleaming yet storm prone waters of endless epiphany,
has driven us into the thick, opaque sludge covered shoreline of individualism and self loathing
However as we allow our gaze, so full of hope and awe to see over the clearing clouds that once blackened our horizon.
We fill our hearts and lift our spirits and confess to ourselves,
even if only in hushed and softened whispers.
That we have the gifts to forge and cast our own paradise with the divinity of our existence.