Protector, provider.
The archetype,
the stereotype,
the unexpected,
the paradoxical,
exposing the authentic duality of life,
a coin with its two sides,
a room soaked in darkness
with unshuttered moonlight bleeding
past cloaked venetian curtains,
words buried deep within stone,
pens like swords or weapons
not yet drawn or transcribed
or scribbled onto daily journals,
the ink spilling onto empty canvas
filling cracks,
exposing scars.
We eat the sun, the moon and the stars,
the sea and the tangled clouds
bringing balance
simultaneously healing and haunting
the creases of the soul,
this is the yin and yang,
filled with primal pleasures and pain,
the paradoxical moments of life.
There are parts of us that never die,
that inhale, then exhale,
part Ares, part Aphrodite,
part Apollo,
that mirror and shield our punctured stars
until the beautiful rise of dawn.
