Inspired by "Shadows Limping Toward Some Blinding Light" by Marc Creamore
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Life's precious mandala spins soundlessly —
unseen by unseeing eyes, unheard by unlistening ears,
untouched by unfeeling hands —
there is only a small space between,
a veil waiting patiently to be parted;
its shadowed secrets beg for revelation.
Drawn by delicate fingers,
rainbows are revealed within the storm —
there is no time, no winding clock —
there is only this moment, this Now.
Souls once torn apart by unmerciful tempests
may choose to rise again or remain inert;
eventual shadows may slowly drape
across an empty canvas of a quiet wall —
dim light fights unending darkness
with knowing strength,
the vivid polarity of a final breath.
Truth leans hard against pulsing hearts of dragons,
survivors of ten thousand wars, ten thousand revolutions,
defenders against inhumanity, against dire dread —
their wings are folded smoothly,
slant and still beneath infinite warmth,
ready to emerge once more,
prepared to exhale their pertinent flames.
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