Ashes for Ashtrays

It is kind of like a beautiful poem being written on the tablet of a heart.
Your expectancy grows with every stroke of the pen.
Your passions ignite as thousands turn to hundreds and hours turn to minutes.
You approach the door of countless memories and innumerable dreams.
The sun shines brighter in your eye and your heart begins to sweat.

At the end of the alley the door approaches-a metal ring binds it shut.
The crack in the wood reveals nothing and your heart sinks-your purpose is gone.

It is as if the sorrow of the world was rolled up within a beautiful masterpiece.
Lick the edge to close it shut. Or just use your tears as the binding seal.
Inhale. The most cancerous of all agents. Failure

Fear is what is exhaled.

The residue lines your garments that were once of many colors.
You were given the cloak that was more beautiful than the flowers of the fields. Only slight glimmers of the raiment appear now as you have been in the gutter for just the right time.
You do not so much prefere the garments of kings as the rags of the beggar.
A white robe will one day await you.

The darkness falls on another cold town in another cold world.
You dream of futures and families, of princes and princesses.

The Sun announces the redemption at hand.
A new masterpiece has been painted, new Kings and Queens await their crowns.

This is the life of the broken, the life of a servant
Our lives are not ashes for ashtrays but incence for an altar
Our tears are not lost in the oceans but dripped as the oil of kings.

Lijiang-Random thoughts for random feelings