I can see a series of torches that have been lit across the world.
I can see the high flag of love and freedom being unfurled.
Unsure if we created love or if love created us…
Or are we just confused love turned treacherous?
The echo is heard across every country and creed and time.
But similarities are confused in each attempt at the elusive rhyme.
Oh what mystery is beheld in the imagination of the soul.
A fraction of infinity, not apart but the entire whole.
The torch means nothing without the cold, surrounding dark.
Dark is our challenging friend and wants to walk us through the park.
The legacy protects itself through the voices of the broken hearted.
All of the brave ones that looked at love and decided to get started.
For love is the only work that makes you truly you.
The personal uniqueness of our love is reality’s clue.
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