Here are the gleaming hearts of nightly shapes,
they wrestle for purpose with lights in the sky of white darkness.
In the misty heights of our time’s false composition,
a man may fall just like a dying star.
So tell us the fate of human souls
as every heart looks up with salty eyes.
Our soul is a misty star like streaming water.
The light of flowers is in the sun behind the moon.
Despair grips the soul when purpose seems like madness,
as skin is torn from a heart inside the gloomy hours.
As with beauty in the falling rain,
life finds its meaning in defeat rather than victory.
It is in the humbling of the mind,
and in the giving of wealth and power,
that we can find our meaning.
And when that meaning comes,
all the rain within the sky will shine
as bright flashes of the sun
in the sparkles of green flowers
that grow inside the flesh of human thought.
And balancing in themselves like a tender ray of innocence
in oceans of love
we fly in cosmic darkness.
The will is free
in knowing that love is more than victory.