The Gift

We are the en-souled

Creatures rising in the dark

Reaching out, alone


We did not choose, life

To come to be, we awoke

A poor creation


Birth is concrescence

A continuum of fear

In the heat of love


The wheel of life turns

Not one of us asked for it

The imposition


Witness the divine

The sacred obligation

We tiny creatures


The week and condemned

A crown of fire on our heads

Burning hail and coal


My aching spirit

Lift me to another world

Weaving threads, and dreams


The wheel turns again

I could lift it like Atlas

As Hercules did


Hand me the lever

Archimedes will move it

The stars shift again

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