About (Love)

It has taken a while for me to publish an “About” page. But today was the day for it to be written.

We can live our lives in the same identity for many many years, or we can try this way or that way as the wind blows. It doesn’t matter if you try on one costume or may costumes. You are still just the one trying on costumes.

But who are you anyway?

The world teaches that you are nothing without the costume.

But I am here to tell you are everything without it.

That is because what you are is simply Love.

So here is my about page. This will never change. https://2ofswans.com/about-love/

Wings of the Moth

Each thought is pulled down by gravity to the ground,
for no matter how high our pilot mind attempts to fly
it will find its matter unsuitable for the purest sky.

Wise words are shadow memories whether written or said
and rivers sweep away the speeches carved upon their bed,
forgotten fragments of a life lived alone inside the head

Heroes, gods, and goddesses reflections of a distant time
wanted to be eternal, but just survive as scholarly signs
victory without living heart, achievement that time forgot.

And so we became desperate for technology to us acquire
to speak into wires and sacrifice for fame our true desire:
for wings of the moth chase the most violent of the fires.

The Life I Didn’t Know

…A simple thing it is to write about what we want others to see about us. Not so simple it is to write what we have hidden from ourselves either deliberately or intentionally. It is all the same. What is hidden is that which we don’t want ourselves or others to know, but what is hidden has no less an impact on our lives. I have never known the heat or nature of the surface of the sun, but that does not mean that the surface of the sun is without power in my life. My life, to be exact, had always seemed to be a pebble bouncing across the surface of a lake, ripples racing outward as the light of the sun danced in between the valleys of the tiny crested waves. Magically, the pebble would avoid the fate of falling to the bottom of the deep waters, and by some uncanny will it would persist this lateral and repetitive movement. Pointless and uninteresting did it all seem especially after so many years, and yet I have now found that if I had looked perhaps a bit closer upon it, I would have seen two invisible hands alternating the responsibility of keeping the pebble above the water: one called Fear, the other called Pride, both called Hope…