Like poetry in the dark, whispers that bring resonance of mystery and magic, of dancing and a light not deeply obscured by filters and cattle prods and the empty promises of a sound you want to hear that leads nowhere
But the sound is so lovely and sound is so lovely and how could sound be anything but lovely
Yet light is pure without force or reason, it exists without the need for you to please it
Because it unfolds you and then you become and become and become
I am here. Where are you? Can we meet in the forest, the lingering weeds between the two?
Or will the one act play of forever dance away with itself
into vast and empty space you remain too afraid to fill