“It was a savage scene, and we stayed there for a long time, watching life feed on itself, the silence interrupted only by the crack of bone or the rush of wind, or the hard thump of a vulture’s wings as it strained to lift itself into the current, until it finally found the higher air and those long and graceful wings became motionless and still like the rest.”

––Barack Obama, Dreams from My Father

What once was blood streaks

your face with indigo tears

and lush midnight tunes.

Holding silver hands,

you compose a Tao of art

that heals broken wings.

Lips glow violet,

open to reveal tongues bright

with pearl metaphors.

A speckled halo

handcuffs the world’s best liars

to soft dark passions.

Music’s sweet labors

give birth to a springtime rush

of sighs rippling dreams.

Out of your mouth rhymes

blossom like warm paradigms

already in flight.

Golden, your songs,

nobly spinning planets on

their axis of love.

On faith’s battered back

calm eyes etch prayers that cool

a nation’s hot rage.

Inside these scarred hearts

genius flows incandescent

waves of truth made real.

Hope drowned in shadows

emerges fiercely splendid––

boldly angelic.

by Aberjhani

Star Goddess artwork by Daniel B. Holeman