The child of the golden light
sitting in the sunshine room
in the dark factories of
madness' tombs,
Your gentle sweet breath
creates a breeze flickering,
as one candle
lights another
in lilac scented jasmine,
Our shadows are cast on the walls.
While in your lap sits a
Clay bowl
with Icarius images etched,
whispering for you to behold,
The cup holds countless opportunities
for inspiration,
Little Tinkerbelles
you hand out freely to those
who lighten up the darkness,
for those lost in the cold
for those lost without a home
for those who swelter in the heat
of their own madness
for far too long,
for those who come alone
who are there to help as best they can.
This rare clay bowl of Tinkerbelles
Who bring magic to the cold nights of our world
the Queen of Hearts
Handed out souls to those
whose souls had been lost
with this light of hope
inspired those who
give at all costs.
The Queen of Hearts
has left the room
down the highway to a distant land
All her bowls of inspiration, courage,
compassion and hope
neatly packed
I watch your U-Haul
sail down 101
I walk back to my dark end
and notice at
my feet
one last clay bowl
of splendor
left behind,
As I pick it up
I know it's a role
I can never live up to or play
in your way.
But one spinning light
a remnant left behind
remained
encouraging me to
try with another
and one more time
perhaps I can pass this gauntlet
on
to another.
Her sweet work
will never be done,
whether here or there
but perhaps if done correctly
with a true heart,
the darkness will be vanished,
everywhere.
Farewell, farewell.
Your sweet breath remains
lights the candles
one by one
Tinkerbelles of magical inspiration
handed out freely
to each and every one
Your enlightened legacy.
For this moment
And in this time
and space
Your bowl
Your inspirations
are
Alive with grace.
For Helene.