Self

Is it in the sky

Falling from the pine

Does it grow from the ashes of the fire?

I can't see it's face

But it takes the shape

Of the mountainside we stop to admire

We can hear it's here

When we inhale, exhale the head clear

Holding the hands we hold dear

Run from the arms of our fears and grow

How it whispers close

It can't save our souls

For it lives in us, upon our earth

What does it speak of

So we feel it's love

Does it ask us for something in return?