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Turn to Dust

“If you cry because the sun has gone out of your life, your tears will prevent you from seeing the stars”

— Rabindranath Tagore


Consider the watercolor sky
On fire with the light of distant stars.
Mighty and glowing are they,
With inspiration getting brighter
As time passes, growing younger

As the sun sets in the West
And its tapestry shines best
From the corners of the eye:

Lamps of the soul,
Lamps that are souls,
Lamps that are incomplete,
Lamps waiting to become whole.

The purpose for existence is indescribable,
As unique to the individual as it is survivable.
The quest for hope is often seasons away,
The wind blowing in Heaven’s wake.

Why must we wait for meaning to approach us?
Must the search for answers always be painful?

Yes, I suppose it must,
Because life is recovery,
Growth the product of trust with our Maker,
Before our spirits melt like ice,
And our memories turn to dust.

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