Where There’s Fire, Not Always Light

To those with shrouded eyes and stone-hearted ways, not accustomed to parenting light. To those casting lie after lie to the masses as if they were bountiful feasts. To those enslaving our brains to grim factories and psychic prisons, leaving imagination to spend its days in the dark. We must learn to build ladders of grace for one another, a way up and out of society’s raging flames. Where there’s fire, there’s not always light. The essence of our existence can be witnessed in the bright and beautiful electricity of a simple hello. Stillborn is our hate. Newborn is our joy.

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