Om

By the candlelight, I write my tale
Of a girl who lived a little while
She grew under pain and threats,
Where is the relief for a life like this?

She fell in love with a beating heart,
But hers was almost dead,
In her smile hope glowed faintly,
Flickeringly, and seemed to fade.

Her life hung in the balance;
She thought, "No second chances,
Life's restrictions leave no time,"
She couldn't find the restoring spring.

Two paths are open for her now;
One will walk in the light of truth,
Inspiriting - or, closing sight, enter darkness'
illusion, of a flighting youth.

One would take her soul, but give her life back,
The other would clothe her in a wondrous robe;
Best may be yet a third route, staying still,
To mindfully travel across the globe.

And so for a time she makes the best choices,
In caverns and mountains and valleys and fields
She found her old life, and in the day
was gladdened each hour by what the soul yields.

No thought intrudes on a joy divine
That shines out on pasts of a still heart -
Symbols of majesty, beautiful images
Are but as shadows of a novel art.

Falling, nor flying, nor failing, she
Has never found the space within,
Nor set a foot upon the fair ground
From which the journey did begin.

But at last her choices did make right
The grievances fate had cast her way,
And became a glorious, wonderful Tree
And a Star to turn a winter's day.

No thought now enters or breaks the calm
Of the tomb this girl has left behind.
Freedom's feeling has since moved on,
Giving her life for another kind.

Chaos took her life too soon,
And complicated ours, I think;
. . . Many stars shine brighter
And many trees took hold;

An unfinished life lives lighter,
Its tale is never quite told
If its author dies so early,
To be born but to never grow old.