They were learning every day, learning to handle fragile things with soft grips, learning to dance to slow songs using slow steps
❤Learning to appreciate the beauty forged by the divine, they were better artists because they soiled lots of writing pads earlier in their lives and yet never gave up!
✍?Some writing pads they never recovered, and some their pieces they still had, the hurt spurring the artist in them forward to write better songs
?Lovestruck, though like gardens made for water, neglected at its bloom, its growth was expected to be permanent and independent of effort
??Then it withered, it grasped, it shrunk, and in a desire for self-preservation, beholding a diet that wiped away the sweet strokes of the once-loved Gardner.
?A new garden, with the desire for the same old strokes but tended by a novice Gardner, a known enemy of the previous Lord of its heart.
Its sun never rose to the harvest day!
Tales the ancient books revealing, first a creator, then a monk, followed by a broken monk-creator, then an obsessed healer, and finally the free-hearted heartthrob.
?The intercessors’ stories, handwritten by their unknown prayers, forging them with answers unexpected
?For the stage unknown, an audience of one, a masterpiece… masterpiece?
A masterpiece meant for this cherished audience prepped in the mastery of applause…
Suddenly it was daybreak, a moment after the dream ended. They were seen trying to salvage their dreams …In the midst of the aroma of insomnia
❤Dreaming of new dreams, tailor suited for the day the soul within had finally found rest.
?The rest of Paul to the Hebrews, the oasis on the map, yet this map living within the heart of the traveler.
?This light-bearers lamp was lit by his resting soul, it was a sweet Surrender.
Finally Home.
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