In the passing of the seasons,
we’ve lost the fire.
in the telling of our reasons,
we’ve tossed desire.
in the spaces that we left vacant,
the thorns grew higher.
we’ve grown so tired.
we’re all so tired.

in the desert, on your knees–
a nakedness to all your prayers,
and in the distance, the acacia trees,
bow their branches in soft despair.

never can we truly heal,
but can we take that truth to mean…
that so too can we never break?
if all this dirt is so damn real…
can we believe in some slate clean?
some space that sets free all the ache?

can we believe in sacred promise-
You too can rise up from the ashes,
You too can rise out of the sea.
You too can fly where thunder crashes,
You too can will this all to Be.

And in the streets the wind is calling–
and on the hills the fires burn.
and under sky star-filled and sprawling,
how deeply can the soul just yearn.

and in your wanting, lies an answer.
the white stones sing with every turn,
and all the birds, the walls, the seas-
hear them all sing now– return, return.

You too can rise now.
You too can learn how.
Your will can burn now.
Your soul can soar now.
You can return now.

You can return.



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