Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.




“And with such a sin, the Angels Fell”

In my journeys about the stardust cities and mountains in white bowler caps, I find no answers. Midst meadows of jade, sands of sparkling mists, and old remnants of the beginnings of land in hollowed volcanoes, I find naught but reluctance and messages garbled. To some love is a mere smoke, made from the fume of sighs. To others, it a spirit of all compact of fire. It is not love that alters when alteration finds it; it is a love sought for, but a love unsought for, all at one single goodness in times madness. Others seek the negative, that good hangings prevent bad marriages, that women want naught but husbands, and when they have achieved, they want everything.

I remember a warrior told me once that Modest Doubt is the Beacon of the Wise. Mind what you say, lest you mar your fortune, and seek out Patience above all other virtues, because once you achieve such, all others fall into place. That warrior walked on from me, with a wink and grin and a hopskip to the hind quarter that made me give pause, but otherwise, I miss her. She taught me that no legacy is so rich as honesty, and in that, I ignored her, I have learned otherwise since my pride fell. She taught me that nothing was so common as to wish to be remarkable. Perhaps this is why I always stand in the back and say little if I have cause to say nothing. Nothing is wonderful, in that nothing comes of nothing. The universal truth.

In this, when seeking love and truth, our doubt becomes treacherous, making us lose the good we oft would win by fearing to attempt the unsure. The courses of true love never ran smoothly, you have to be a master of rapids, and pray constantly you don’t drown in those common with Love’s wake: Suspicion, Discontent, and Strife. But upon defeat, claims the Warrior within, no wounds appear in flesh, but within the soul. And upon success, we gain the wings that will take us to Heaven. It is with this rather whirligig writing I come full circle from darkness of ignorance to the candle that stabs out in this golden age with its brilliance and say this. They who do not show their love, are not in love. The who say miracles have past and will not return, will see no miracle in the eyes of their beholden. Things won are finished and done, but the joy of the soul lies in the doing. To love all will bring content, to trust a few, will bring the mirth and laughter and allow old wrinkles to come, and wrong none, that, that will lead us into the only peace-maker of virtue: IF. If all were well, and no wrong were done to us, we’d be free of so much heartache. Extremities would remain as a trier of spirit, common chances, common men could bear, and when the sea was calm, all boats would alike show mastership in floating. Let this be the truth, If is All We Live For. If is your heart and my heart, and whether or not they will blend in Joy or drown in Sorrow, at eachothers meeting. May I embrace you, my love, for all that I would imagination, and all the IF’s I’d have to draw up to meet my dreams, would bear in following, your name. Doubt the stars are fire, doubt the sun moves, doubt truth to be a liar…but never doubt I love.

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