Tapestries hanging on the walls.
each in turn, took their great fall. All the kings horses,
all the pawns and castles that had been.
Couldn’t combine their untethered heads.
To figure out how to bring their stories
back from the dead, and so they,
concocted a different rendition, made it a mission.
To recreate, using the golden creativity, and imagination
with every capability we’ve been trained not to see,
to use our greatest gift, weaponized against us.
What they call nocebo, or placebo, beneath the words lies an operation.
Separate the reality from the labelling for each to come to life meaningfully.
A secret costing all individual freedoms, comes free when intuition is guiding.
Throwing in their swords lest the end of a sword they meet.
So sad, serendipity breathes, it had no need to go this way.
Trusting the lead intuitively tugging, to bring you to the peak
leads to a never ending story, a love note written over every moment.
I display myself, write the script over my skin. Where I am,
flowing in the streams that warm and heal me.
That direct and feed me. Keep me boyantly.
Ever ready to get to my feet, flap my wings and find perspectives that feed me
the information I need to maintain the peace promised to me.