The fight for alignment:
What is good,
What is pure,
What is Self,
Is innate;
Without mortal casing.
What is eternal,
Only whole,
When merged with
Only One.
While fighting to preserve
These truths, self-evident,
Internalized wisdom.
Not devoid of right
Thought and action.
Products of poor/ circumstance,
To be pieced together and/
determined:
What can be done?
The Honey Bee/
I can, I am
I must, I must,
I will, I'll trust/ again.
That which did not break me/
That which I can never take back.
And to those who I must forgive...
That which does not inspire,
but lights a fire of hatred and anger,
and/
Fury-- a storm that others could ride.
Best not to cool it,
So they fan it instead.
I see a fragile glove,
Held together by hope
Not quite yet belief;
Because that belief needs to be
placed/
On something greater than/
Our pride.
The realization that,
The Divinity in man,
Our eternal quest,
For truth lost once,
Now able to be found
By seekers in earnest.
Flow in and up,
Spreading out to ignite,/
like
Moths drawing nearer
to a flame.
© 2020 Pythia Yang
Unsplash image by Mattia Falorretti