I am my heaven and I am my hell.
And the times I find myself wandering through the dark are the times I tend to
see more clearly. As if the dark is but a fragment of the light. A learning
ground. Where seeds are planted and water begins to soak.
I have traveled as deep as the
sorrows and as narrow as the abyss. And still my heart floats at the beauty of
my souls yearning. As if the beauty I seek, the beauty I sow, is one of my
hearts and not of the one my ego’s being shown.
Now what’s so bad about standing
in your power and seeing the beauty within the depths of defeat? I shall not
question the love for my soul for the love of my eyes. When the soul is but
whom, sees all of dark's disguise.
Black is but a color, one you
cannot see. But if you look from the seat, the one of your soul, you’ll see
black is but a color, a color of gold.