all the bells that ring
above the confounding swirl
of this meager life
are made from the dust
of the innocent heart-core
of the premiere stars.
children, beholden
to which life they illumine,
- before their great course -
are cast in this stock
by the hands of some divine
intervener force,
and then released down
onto the unsuspecting
dim unbelievers.
i have trust in fate
who bows her head toward me
on this cold planet,
and bestows on me
a kind of lighted resolve
to always see love
in frames of virtue
that they so easily make
when they breathe out Truth.
i don't understand
much of anything really,
except the lovely
dreams of my children,
who have made a dance of life
seem like a whisper.
their arms receive me
and i harmonize with joy
in their offering,
and to this father
the bells peal through all darkness
and call me to dance.
Or to swim
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