I see him in the corner there,
His eyes on his paper, his hand on his pen.
New history flows in that ink,
Making paths in the sea where there hadn’t been.
I see her in the stillness there,
Her eyes on the vision, her hand on the brush.
The truth pours from her gentle hand,
Morphs into a painting as she learns to trust.
I see them in the morning there,
Their eyes on the sun, their hands in each other’s.
New tradition forms between them:
Life and love dedicated to no other.
I see him in the darkness there,
As the sun sets slowly on the battlefield.
His last breath painful, bloody, weak,
Is triumph: his love through death was revealed.
I see them all, Outlaws of life,
Who do not conform to the laws of this world.
Their law comes from another realm,
And the few that find it, find a priceless pearl.
They have all learned that life is not
An ever-constant struggle, a daily fight,
But a journey and a process
Of forgetting and remembering the light.
They are the only ones who know
What life is, what peace, what joy, what purpose is,
For they are the only ones who
Really know Who the Truth, the Life, the Way is.