A Myth the Heart Can Create

Sweetness caresses my broken face, and the moment the muse sang brightly shines upon the day. But my mind, it is in a daze, as if stumbling upon the new world ablaze, the ramblings of giants are coming to proclaim:

            Rue the day you gave up your heart.

            Night comes for all.

Still, I heard the stars, in their gentle course, whispering,

so beautifully, so softly,

it made me wonder:

are they really so gentle?

Rational mind collapsed the mystery, and only gas and explosions remained.

But that silver belt came out, like Mother Earth Herself was singingus all to sleep, and the words of the mind mattered less to me than the myth the heart could create.

So if ever daylight obscures imagination, I remember the cover of her embrace, and the way the shine of her belt melted like grace across my face, infusing my eyes with a sight so divine, so sublime, that my heart gave chase to the dream of the sky, as if we could fly.

And soar we did, through midnight sky, mossy around my body like forest in spring, and the stars—they did not burn but embraced. And so I fell and flew and spun around, this spacious place, that same melted grace.

Expanded to infinity, there was nowhere my heart could not chase. And so every night now, I wrap myself in a starlit sky and dream a dream that the heart can fly—and carry it away, to You.

I think they called it prayer, but I don’t fancy names like that. You can’t encapsulate it. It can only be felt, and lived, how that wish expands and covers the night, guiding your heart home.

To the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars.

The Earth, the Wind, and the Sea.

And, come light, if you still fly away past the vast blue day, they say your heart will stay that way.

So when sweetness comes to caress, and you feel yourself breaking,

Give in.

Become sky.

Be free.