An orb of light that glowed around you vanished.
Its safety you enjoyed but, have not earned.
The peace you breathed gone, air is shallow without it.
Your crutch removed, your cane misplaced.
The new moon ate the path your truth must light.
It is said, The Black Sea swallows souls refusing to live.
Darkness weighs heavy on hearts starved for wings.
Graves grows deeper for those who would not climb.
Your fire grows faint, when unattended.
Remember: Gold does not glimmer for the blind.
Nor, do angels sing for hand-covered ears.
Love cannot soothe self-inflicted wounds.
There are teachers, who will not learn…
Sick Doctors who refuse to heal themselves…
–Preachers whose souls need saving most.
Yet, around it you hover, that circle of light.
…Pleading in your silence for remittance–it will not be.
Stoke your own fires…Grow your own wings…
Climb from your grave…Swim the sea…
Make your own light.

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