Feathers float in darkness…
All eyes are blind,
All ears are shut.
The flaming hand destroys them.

With ashes white,
Like snow, but hot,
He paints himself.
For what?

A feather has an essence
Like all things have.
Metaphors imprisoned,
In the core.

You take the ash,
You take the soul,
And paint it deep
Inside yourself.

You paint the lightness,
You paint the flight,
You paint the hope,
And you will rise.

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