To Live is Another

To proclaim is one thing,
To live is another.
As hopeless as shooting sand,
Or hanging a wishing desire upon the icy black that shrouds stars.

Who can rise on the wings of the dawn,
or settle on the far side of anything?
To compare the beating of a heart to the beating of a drum.
What hope has one who looks on the beauty of
pen and ink, but does not bring to light the sliver
of illumination that every phrase has.
The River-in-the-Desert that every term is.

A stage is set - the curtains drawn,
The page a room-
Words are windows-
Who is the light that needs letting in?