I wish I could give everything I know to you,
so you never have to feel my pain.
But that door has its own mind and time;
it cannot be teleported here.
So I live knowing,
without being able to give.
Then comes the cosmic dice
that one day permits the truth,
allows a portal to wisdom.
My past self is there,
your past,
when it all makes a little more sense.
A space that knows much more than I expected;
The right words and feelings surge.
If it takes a war, it happens.
If it takes a village enraged, it will.
There would be no reason sufficient to overtake fate,
so we carve slowly.
The forest burns.
The knowers know.
The wanderers observe.
The toilers continue to toil in confusion with their fog.
I guess that’s their home.