We must love with a passion not our own
Born from ages past, inherited by futures yet to come
For vessels made of clay burn in the tenderness of hands
Eager to take hold of a blessing not yet prepared to pass through fire
(For as dreamers we know nothing of what is to come
As visions reveal themselves as wild in the night
When eyes shut tight and hearts open and close
clasping hopes in the smallest of hands)
Would we still be dreamers if we knew the distance of the path before us?
Would our hearts still speak with the tenderness of birds
seeking shelter from sudden rain?
Would we still breathe each other in to make love in
Wind that pushes and pulls in directions untamed?
Would the roots of our trees continue to run deep
Bearing the sweetness of fruits made ripe only in due season?
For destinations can be reached with eyes fixated on distance
Or a journey can be embarked charted directly to the unknown
Discovering along the way,
Imaginations that push beyond the chains bound by impatient hearts
To give birth to dreams that have yet to be born in the solitude of our sleep
To fly recklessly into heights that soar beyond horizons of fear
And to land in the sunset of our love till the moon gifts us with passion not our own
From ages past inherited by futures yet to come
For it will be our journey, never the destination
That will prepare us into vessels made with tender hands
Ready to pass through fire.