In that higher aspect
from which you lived
for such a sliver of time
and to which I clung, dangling
from the waning light of hope
that in the fullness of time
you would yet remember,
there was the glimpse of golden—

There was everything
one could ever dream:
a world, pristine; love,
magnified; all things,
coming back to life. 
 
But even he, alive in you,
chose to await your choice
rather than to choose
for you. How he held
your heart! How I too
loved you.

All that was possible then,
as now... how the world shook
with recognition of its purity!
I wonder sometimes if it is
not completely lost to you,
having sealed yourself
inside a tomb, which is nothing
that he or I or any aligned with life
would ever want for anything
or anyone. But 10,000 echoes
of my pleas for intervention
and a second resurrection
were left unanswered
and your ringing ears
seemed not to hear what
your heart knew but which you
buried all the more.

You chose, a million times over,
then and now, there and here,
construction, the meaning
of which is to heap up, to devise,
to form in the mind some
better world you would offer
and for eons have worked
to polish and present
as truth:

Rigid religiosity and spinning systems
devoid of the true life you cast down—
12 stars from the crown scattered,
like stars that fell from the sky—
you no longer desiring to belong
to the love you are.

Love has not languished.
It has lived upon the land,
rising up like smoke signals,
clear messages left for you
and all who followed, 
immaculate meaning you have,
it seems, chosen again
to disregard.

Does this false, constructed world
now finally hold full sway, in the way
that you can no more reach the love
alive in you, far beyond the construct
of egoic rage born long ago, far away,
and also close to here and now
of the seed of rancid fear planted
to control what would grow
in a field of plenty?

In the prism of the last tear
there was the world I held
for the milennia, choosing
then as now to remain
with all that is true nature
and not a manufacture.
And so the realm 
of radiance
begins.

There is a rising:
four words that were the last
I ever spoke to you in that time
you so easily left behind
and all the things you killed
to construct the world as you 
would have it. Now, again,
I live them, walking with faith
in the way he taught us
to receive.

And dare to dream
that I might still
believe.